


Life or Something Like It

by thedisassociation



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Mystery, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisassociation/pseuds/thedisassociation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel and Santana are about to learn that sometimes there's a very blurry line between being alive and being dead. Sometimes, there's no line at all. Character death, but only technically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A River That Is Also A Road

**Prologue**

They buried her on a Tuesday. It was the end of September, just after school started. The weather was still warm and her black dress clung to her body uncomfortably. The heat hovered over all of them, wrapping them up and trying to smother them and she briefly thought that might be alright. It was wrong, all wrong. It should have been cold; it should have been dreary and dark; there should have been rain threatening to drown them. She wanted the weather to match how they all felt – lifeless and dull.

But the leaves were changing early and the life cycle continued and someone was trying to sing – was it her? – but they were choking on their sobs. A stray leaf fell in front of her and she realized that she was the one sobbing, struggling to sing.

And it just felt all wrong to her, to everyone, that they should be burying their classmate, their friend.

The casket began to lower into the ground, a deep mahogany with flowers of all colors spread out over it. There were blues and whites and yellows and reds and purples and Rachel thought about how fitting it was that the burial should be marked by the sight of all the colors of the rainbow disappearing into the stark brown earth. That _she_ should go and take all the color with her.

Someone was speaking as the casket lowered. It was _her_ mother, Rachel realized. And she wasn't speaking, no, she was crying out the deep sorrowful wail of a mother who has lost her child. Rachel averted her gaze, more tears forcing their way out of her eyes as she watched the woman across from her grieve and mourn and sob and curse everything.

They were all crying, the entire glee club, boys and girls alike. There were students of every grade all around her, come to lament the sudden loss of one of their own or to say good riddance or just to miss school. _She_ wouldn't have wanted them all there, and they all knew it.

Mister Schuester beckoned towards the glee club again, his face grim. Rachel didn't know if she had it in her to sing. Her throat felt raw, like it was burning from the inside out, and her vision was blurry. Her eyes were filled to the brim with tears that couldn't escape fast enough. Her cheeks were wet and her head hurt and her heart felt like it was trying to force its way out of her chest, trying to escape.

And she sang – they all did – but it was all wrong. They couldn't seem to find each other in the music, couldn't bring their harmonies together. But they sang with everything they had in them and Rachel knew it was the most emotional they had ever been, the deepest and rawest they had ever sung anything. And it wasn't right that _she_ wasn't singing with them.

She wiped her face and pressed on, trying to block out how wrong it was that Santana Lopez was being lowered into the ground when she should have been standing right next to Rachel Berry.

Behind her, someone sobbed. It was Brittany most likely, or perhaps Quinn. She tried to take a breathe and realized that it wasn't Brittany or Quinn sobbing; it was her.

* * *

 **Chapter One**

"' _You people talk about the living and the dead as if they were two mutually exclusive categories. As if you cannot have a river that is also a road, or a song that is also a color.'  
_ ' _You can't,' said Shadow. 'Can you?'"  
_ _Neil Gaiman,_ _American Gods_

The day after the funeral, Quinn didn't come to school. But she called Rachel, of all people, late that night. She sobbed into the phone, breathless gasping sobs that tugged at Rachel's emotions and made her cry as well. They talked for what felt like hours, Quinn telling her how much she wished she been a better friend to _her_ , had reached out more over the summer to rebuild their broken friendship. She told Rachel about New York, about reconnecting with her former best friends. She didn't say it, but Rachel could feel her thinking it, could feel it rolling off of her in waves, even through the phone: _If I had been there, maybe it never would have happened_. It was a ridiculous thought and Rachel said as much. Quinn came to school on Thursday, but she didn't speak to Rachel.

Brittany didn't come to school again until Friday and it was obvious that she had been forced out of bed. Her eyes were read and her hair was in a messy ponytail; her uniform was wrinkled and she had on the wrong shoes. She didn't smile, didn't even speak, even when spoken to; she just halfheartedly shrugged at anyone who tried to offer their condolences to her. Some of the cheerleaders tried to talk to her before school in the hallway, saying that they couldn't imagine losing a best friend. Brittany had walked away immediately and spent first period sitting in the choir room, a fact that Rachel only knew because she had found the girl there and gently led her to her to second period.

Mister Schuester warned them all ahead of time to be careful around Brittany, to tread lightly. He didn't need to, though, because they were all already treading lightly around _everyone_ , drifting through school a bit mindlessly. He offered Brittany the floor, encouraging her to let her emotions out. She sobbed and walked out of the room quickly. Rachel had never seen a more heartbroken soul in her life.

Mister Schuester tried to get all of them to dance, to sing, even to speak. He said that they should perform, vent their feelings and express themselves. He told them something celebrating the life lived, not the life lost, but his voice is quiet and his words rang hollow. He didn't say _her_ name – none of them did – and for the first time, Rachel didn't know what song to sing.

She thought for a moment of an Amy Winehouse song ( _she_ had been such a fan), but then Rachel remembered that she was gone, too. The idea was immediately dismissed.

Rachel saw Noah at Temple that weekend. It was the first time he had been there in weeks and she was surprised to see him, sitting between his mom and little sister. His expression was solemn and completely un-Noah-like. He gave her a hug afterwards, wrapping his strong arms around her and pulling her close. Rachel sank into his arms gratefully, returning the hug and trying to offer him as much comfort as she drew from him. "I don't want to lose you, too," he said suddenly and Rachel cried into his shoulder until she couldn't breathe anymore. He, too, wished he had been there to stop it and it was as ridiculous an idea as ever but she couldn't find the oxygen to tell him so.

Finn was the first one to sing. He chose a classic rock song, something he said his mother used to play after his father passed away – Pink Floyd's _Wish You Were Here_. Puck backed him up on guitar and sang with him and for a moment, it almost seemed to help all of them. The load felt a little bit lighter, the air a little bit easier to inhale. But Finn's voice cracked during the chorus and Brittany buried her head in her hands. Puck missed a note, missed several in rapid succession, and he had to stop playing. No one pushed Finn to continue.

A couple days later, Mike performed a dance. He didn't say anything, just started dancing to a string quartet recording of _Starlight_ by Muse. His foot slipped after a couple of minutes and he shook his head, pausing for a moment. He tried to continue, but Tina stopped the music and pulled him back to his seat. Neither of them said anything for the rest of glee.

Rachel went through her entire Barbra Streisand catalog. She found nothing.

Blaine sang _Drops of Jupiter_ the next day. He played the piano as he performed, but he missed too many notes, seemed to forget them, and it was incomplete. He cried while he sang, poured his heart out in an unexpected way (Rachel didn't think he knew _her_ that well). He managed to get through the whole song, a first for the glee club, his voice growing steadily louder as his emotions gripped him. Rachel clapped and wished that she could find her own song to sing.

Mercedes went next, choosing to sing TLC's _Waterfalls_ with Artie. He rapped his verses and the two sang together, the others joining in on the chorus, which surprised the pair. It surprised Rachel, too, and she assumed it surprised all of them. Mister Schuester looked relieved, smiling at them, but it didn't reach his eyes. Afterwards, Mercedes explained that she and Santana had been talking about doing a duet of the song. It was the first time any of them had said her name out loud and Rachel looked at Brittany immediately. She hadn't joined them in singing.

It was days before any one else tried to perform anything. Rachel continued in vain to go through her music collection.

Tina was the first one to try and sing after Mercedes and Artie. She prefaced her song by explaining that she and Santana (she only just managed to say her name) had been planning to work on a new original song together. She only got through the first few lines of _Cosmic Love_ before she broke down in tears.

Kurt stood up a few minutes after Tina had been led back to her chair. He didn't say anything for a long moment before eventually singing _Send in the Clowns_ from "A Little Night Music." It was breathtaking and heartbreaking and Rachel cried with him as soon as he started. He was subdued, singing in a lower key than he normally would, and his voice was quiet. When the song was over, the last strains of music washing over them languidly, he told them that he only wished he had gotten to know the real Santana better. Rachel silently shared his wish.

She started listening to the radio in her car instead of her predetermined iPod playlists. She set it to scan through all the stations it could pick up, stopping when she heard something that caught her attention. Very few songs managed to grab her and the ones that did were all eventually dismissed.

Quinn sang the next day, a soft, slow version of _Say a Little Prayer For You_. There was no backing track or music, just Quinn. She tried to get Brittany to join her, but Brittany shook her head and sank down in her chair, watching the ground and crying. Quinn said that it was the first song she ever sang with Santana and she always associated her with the song. She also said that she did just that every day – she said a little prayer for _her_ , for Brittany, for all of them.

When all eyes turned to Rachel next, expecting some grandiose sweeping ballad no doubt, she only shook her head and turned away. It was all too wrong.

Three weeks after the funeral, Rachel was no closer to finding a song to sing. She didn't know why. Music had always come very natural to her, even when it was something simple like choosing which song to sing. But her heart was heavy and her mind felt unorganized.

Santana had never been close to her, had spent more time torturing her than anything else. But at the end of the day, they didn't hate each other. Rachel and Santana had had their moments together, both good and bad. They often performed next to each other, in fact, and Rachel could see the sheer joy on Santana's face as she performed and it told her that maybe there was something more to the girl. And now, Rachel would never have the chance to find out.

Exactly three weeks to the day of the funeral, Rachel found herself sitting in the cemetery in the evening. The sun was setting, slowly heading towards the horizon. Dusk settled around Rachel as she settled in front of Santana Lopez's gravestone. It was beginning to darken, but Rachel didn't move. The last vestiges of light clung to her body, but she only had eyes for the ground in front of her.

The lower part of the sun slipped just below the top of the trees and Rachel shivered as a breeze blew through the cemetery. She traced her fingers across the letters engraved on the stone.

 _Santana Marisol Lopez  
_   
_Beloved Daughter and Friend_

"If only we could have been better friends," she whispered, pulling her jacket tighter around her body. The sun was almost gone now and Rachel knew she needed to leave before it got too dark to see. "Maybe things could have been different."

"Like you and me could have ever been friends," a voice said quietly from behind her. It was deep, a little raspy, and completely familiar in its tone.

Rachel whirled around and was immediately greeted with the sight of Santana Lopez. Her face was pale, almost white in the setting sunlight. Her eyes were dark against her skin and her hair was gently curled, falling around her face carefully. She was wearing the black dress she had been buried in.

 _Buried_ , Rachel remembered with a start. She raised a hand towards Santana in shock. Santana Lopez was dead, very dead, and yet there she was, standing in front of Rachel Berry in the middle of the cemetery.

Rachel fainted, seeing only black.


	2. Those Least Inviting

_"No place worth knowing yields itself at sight, and those the least inviting on first view may leave the most haunting pictures upon the walls of memory." -_   
_Algernon Blackwood, A Prisoner in Fairyland_

It was well past sunset when Rachel awoke. She glanced around her as she sat up with a groan. Her head was pounding and she absentmindedly rubbed it as she stood. The moon was full, casting its bright glow over the cemetery and reminding Rachel that she was surrounded by the graves of those that had already passed from this world.

Moonlight illuminated the tombstones around her and she was acutely aware of being alive, aware of the fullness of her lungs as she inhaled and the movement of her muscles as she shifted her weight and rubbed her head. She was alive and around her there was only death, harsh gray stones set in green grass to mark the final resting places of people whose lungs would never know what it meant to breathe and whose muscles would never understand what it meant to move.

A cold breeze blew past her and Rachel shivered, pulling her coat tightly to her body as she scanned the graveyard. She ran a hand up over her face and through her hair. There was no one in sight, no one around her save for the buried bodies of the dead.

"I must be seeing things," she muttered to herself as she shook her head. She cast one last look at the gravestone in front of which she had collapsed.  _Santana Lopez._ Yes, she had definitely been seeing things, because Santana Lopez was gone, taken from them long before her time.

A song bubbled up inside of Rachel, trying to push to the surface and come out of her. She tried to grasp it, pull it up from the recesses of her mind to the forefront. It held itself back, though, twisting away from her and retreating until she couldn't feel it anymore. She had been so close to catching it.

Rachel kicked at the grass in front of her in frustration. She was Rachel Berry; she was meant to sing. She was a diva and as such, she felt every emotion deeply, could trace the minutiae of every feeling that raced through her body; her response to those feelings was singing, singing until she was spent and had given up everything, until there was nothing left inside her to feel.

But Santana Lopez was dead, had been for almost a month, and Rachel couldn't find an appropriate song to express herself. Perhaps it was because she didn't know how she felt, she mused, or perhaps it was because she was feeling everything intensely all at once or perhaps it was because she was feeling nothing but a great void in the pit of her stomach and it was trying spread out and overtake her body or perhaps she was…

The grass rustled nearby, startling her. Rachel whirled around, but saw nothing. The wind howled and a faint whisper reached her ears; a soft voice carried and Rachel shuddered, unsure. She strained, trying to make out the words as she worriedly looked around her. Apprehension filled her and she struggled to make out where the sound was coming from. Rachel had a clear view of her surroundings (the moon was so very bright) and there was no one with her. She listened carefully.

She heard:  _"My name. It says my –"_

A loud ringing noise surprised her and she jumped, bringing a hand to rest over her heart. The cemetery seemed to still suddenly, the wind dying down to nothing. No whispered reached her ears. Her ringtone echoed through the graveyard loudly and uncomfortably. Rachel shook her head, answering the call.

"Rachel Berry speaking."

"Rachel, sweetheart, where are you?" her father asked worriedly, his voice strained. "It's after eleven."

Rachel's eyebrows rose in shock. Had she really been at the cemetery for so long? It had felt like only minutes. She wondered how long she had been unconscious. "I'm sorry," she replied. "I've been studying with Kurt and I lost track of time. I apologize for my failure to update you on my whereabouts."

"We were both very worried. Your dad said that he got home from work and you weren't there. We've been trying to call you," Hiram said. "With everything that's happened recently," he started.

Rachel shook her head again, realizing he couldn't see her. "I know," she interrupted. "As I said, I apologize and I promise that I will do a better job of letting you know where I am so that you don't worry."

"Alright, sweetie. I'm just glad nothing happened to you," he responded. "You should come home now, Rachel. It's getting late and it's a school night."

Rachel cast one more glance over the graveyard she was standing in, her gaze lingering on the fresh patch of dirt in front of her.  _She_  was there, laid to rest in the cold unforgiving earth, left to decay until her remains were either completely lost to time or found by archaeologists and put in a museum. Images of  _her_ , motionless as she lay in a casket in the funeral parlor, her eyes closed and her hair framing her face neatly; dancing around the choir room with the rest of the glee club, filling up the room with her laughter and sarcasm; laying beneath the ground, surrounded by wood and dirt and bugs until Mother Nature reclaimed her physical body; smiling brightly as she sang in place next to Rachel, practically beaming as she looked out over the audience with pride.

"Rachel? Are you still there?"

She was crying, she realized. Tears were rolling down her face and falling on to her sweater. "Yes, I'm still here," she breathed hesitantly. And she was still there, on the phone and among the living while  _she_  would never be there again. "I'm leaving now," she told her father before hanging up the phone.

Rachel took a few deep breaths, calming herself down as she turned away from the grave she had come to visit. She turned away with purpose and strode confidently towards the gate that would take her out of the cemetery. As she pushed it open, she cast a final glance behind her.

She thought she saw something as she pushed the gate closed and fastened the latch – a movement in the trees, a figure standing across the graveyard, shrouded in darkness. Rachel gulped and turned away quickly, telling herself that it was only her imagination. "Perhaps I hit my head when I fell," she whispered to herself. Looking back and finding nothing unusual, she decided that yes, she was most definitely seeing things.

" _I'm still here, too,"_  she heard. It was soft, barely a whisper it seemed, but it rang throughout the cemetery, catching the breeze and whistling across the grass until it settled in her ears, rattling around inside her skull. As she left, Rachel decided that she was definitely hearing things, too.

She slept fitfully that night, dreaming of thick red blood flowing into sewer grates and anguished cries that reverberated off the walls of her room and lingered in her mind and in her room until she couldn't be sure if she was awake or asleep. She dreamt of blind hatred and raw passion and heartbreak and love and hurt until the feelings blurred in her consciousness and became interchangeable. She dreamt of losing and of being lost.

The next day, Rachel went back to the cemetery after school. She bought flowers on the way – pretty blue ones whose name she didn't bother to learn – and lingered for reasons she couldn't explain. She stayed there for hours, watching the petals of her flowers shake back and forth, blades of grass swaying beside her as a fall wind blew harshly. She pulled her coat close to her and waited until the sun went down.

Nothing happened and Rachel found that she was disappointed.

When she went back again two days later, the flowers were gone, torn remnants of blue petals strewn across the ground haphazardly. She bent over at the waist, picking up a few of the petals and caressing them with her fingers. They were soft between her fingertips and oddly comforting in her open palms.

"I said that I'm still here, too," someone said from behind her, their voice deep and gravelly. A throat cleared and the petals slid from Rachel's grasp.

She watched them fall to the ground silently, settling in the grass with what was left of the Forget-Me-Nots she had brought days before. She had looked up the flower when she got home and been touched by the sentiment she had never meant imbue.

"I really am losing my mind," Rachel muttered, sighing. "I simply must find an appropriate song to perform as soon as possible."

A hand grabbed her, spinning her around. A chill ran down through her arm, spreading from her shoulder and the pale hand still perched there.  _She_  was standing there, as she had been before, pale in the autumn sunlight. She still wore her black dress and Rachel could feel how cold her touch was even through her sweater.

"You're not real. I'm just seeing things," Rachel whispered, mostly trying to convince herself. She took a step back, putting her hands in her pockets and trying to shake off the very real feeling of the hand that had been on her. She remembered yesterday's therapy session – something about trauma and reactions and figments of the imagination and time to heal.

 _Her_  expression was pained and she shook her head. "What the fuck, Berry? What kind of sick joke is this?" she spat, gesturing to the burial plot beside them. "It says my name. Why does it say my name?"

Rachel's eyes screwed shut and she shook her head furiously, breathing heavily. "You're not real," she muttered again. "You're not real."

"The fuck I'm not,"  _she_ said and Rachel felt coldness spreading through body again.

Hands grabbed her shoulders harshly, shaking her. Rachel gasped, trying to pull away. They were  _so_  cold, the chill seeping through her clothes and burrowing into her body until she shivered. They were cold, but they were definitely firm and they were definitely touching her, holding her tightly as they tugged on her.

"You're not real," she tried again, her voice shaking. "You're dead."

She stopped shaking. Rachel could feel her blood circulating, reaching into the cold parts of her body and trying to bring them warmth again. She tentatively opened her eyes, expecting to find no one.

But  _she_  was still there, her body collapsed on the ground and her face a mixture of shock and disbelief. "It's not true," she muttered. She was sobbing, but her face was dry. There were no tears. "Why are you doing this?"

Rachel sputtered. "I'm not doing anything," she responded, wondering why she was even bothering with something that wasn't real. "You're dead," she said again, firmly.

Hands reached out again, grabbing her suddenly and pulling Rachel to the ground until she was facing her, kneeling in front of each other in the dirt. "I'm right here,"  _she_ cried, her voice rising as she gripped Rachel tightly.

Rachel fought to keep her eyes open, aware of the fact that she was being touched again when she shouldn't have been. It felt real to her, the fingers grasping at her arms and the body so close to her own. It felt real and it shouldn't have felt like anything and Rachel did close her eyes then.

She was shaken again, briefly. "No, you look at me," she heard and her eyelids flitted open.

 _Her_  face was full of torment and distress, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips quivering as she sobbed dry tears, and Rachel remembered the night everything changed, the night when that anguished look would burn itself to the inside of her retinas. The person, apparition, figment of her imagination, the  _whatever_  it was before her had a cleaned up and covered cut above her eye that hadn't been there before, barely concealed scratch marks on her forearms that she hadn't had in life. There would be marks on her body beneath the dress, Rachel knew – cut marks and bruises and scratches. The pain on her face was just as it had been the night Rachel Berry had watched Santana Lopez die.

"You're dead," was all she could say, the words a soft whisper.

The hands holding her tightened, squeezed her arms with a force that made her cry out softly. "But I'm here," Santana told her and Rachel felt herself nodding. She was still here, they both were.


	3. The Earth Unseen

_"Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep."_   
_John Milton,_ _ Paradise Lost   
_

Santana let go of her eventually, leaning back on her heels. Rachel watched her warily before mirroring her movements, sitting down across from her. The air around her felt heavy, charged with something that was probably shock, but which felt like something much thicker and more suffocating. Everything about the moment felt genuine and true, like it wasn't just something Rachel was imagining. But there was something else there, some lingering shadow clouding her periphery, and it confused her, left her mind feeling sluggish.

"Well?" Santana asked, looking at her expectantly. She had stopped crying – not that she had shed any tears anyway – and was staring at Rachel like she was waiting for her to explain the mysteries of life. And maybe she was.

But Rachel didn't have those answers, didn't have any answers. "Well, what?" she said eventually.

"Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?" Santana spat, her face contorting in annoyance.

Rachel knew that face well: Santana had worn it often while in her presence. _Had worn? Wore? Wears?_ she wondered, briefly considering the proper verb tense one would use in such a situation. Santana scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Definitely 'wears,'" Rachel muttered to herself, nodding.

Santana crossed her arms, but was silent and Rachel had nothing to tell her (she didn't understand what was happening herself). "So, I'm dead?" she asked after a long moment. Her face no longer showed annoyance, but genuine curiosity. Her eyes were soft.

Rachel stared at her for a moment, her brow creasing. Santana wasn't breathing, she realized; her chest wasn't rising and falling in the familiar cadence of someone taking in oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide. Rachel nodded.

Santana glanced away from her, her arms dropping to her sides. "You're sure, Berry?" she questioned. Santana was looking her expectantly, waiting for what seemed to be all the answers to all the questions in the world.

Rachel nodded again as screams filled her ears, loud cries of pain and of deep hurt. There was blood, red like liquid rubies as it flowed. It collected in a pool beneath and beside and around her, soaking through her tights and her skirt, coating her hands in warmth as screams turned into cries, soft cries and a whispered raspy voice trying to speak, trying to say something, something that sounded like –

Fingers snapped in front of her face and she focused. There was only quiet around her and the only thing staining her tights was the dirt in which she had kneeled. "I'm sure," she whispered.

Santana nodded absently, her gaze fixed on the ground. "That explains a lot," she said.

"Does it?" Rachel wondered. She wondered a lot of things, sitting in that cemetery across from her dead classmate, but it seemed easier to go with the conversation. Santana appeared to know as little as she did.

Santana nodded again, looking up at her solemnly. She didn't say anything.

"I don't understand," Rachel said. "If this is real, a certainty of which I am still not quite assured, then why is it real? What are you doing here? How are you even here?" she asked, raising her hands in a flurry of activity. "Oh god, are you here to haunt me? Is that what's happening? Wait, are you hungry? You haven't eaten, I'm sure. Are you cold?"

"Oh, my god, shut up," Santana cried. "And no, I'm not freaking hungry. I'm not hungry and I'm not cold," she started. She ran her left hand the length of her right arm, pressing down on her pale skin. "Well, I guess I am. But I don't feel it, you know? I don't – I don't feel anything."

Rachel leaned towards her and smacked her shoulder as hard as she could bring herself to. Santana's body jostled but she otherwise didn't react. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she held her tongue and Rachel had a feeling she wanted to swear at her.

"I felt that," Santana said. "But it didn't hurt."

"Maybe I should do it harder," Rachel suggested, feeling absurd for indulging what should have been a delusion. Hallucinations can feel real, she thought, can't they?

"Don't even think about it," Santana warned. "I could feel it, but I couldn't really," she muttered, gesturing with her hands and trying to find a way to explain herself. "I could feel that it was happening, but it didn't mean anything," she tried.

Rachel nodded alowly, trying to appear as if she understood, but she didn't, not at all. "Have you been here this whole time?" she asked.

Santana shrugged. "I dunno. How long has it been?"

Rachel bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth. "About a month," she answered.

Santana breathed out, exhaling in a fit of surprise, and Rachel waited for her to inhale again. She didn't. "A freaking month. What – fuck, I mean – how did it happen?" she eventually managed to ask. Rachel watched the rise and fall of Santana's chest as she spoke, finding that she only seemed to take in air when she needed to speak.

"It," she started, "happened at night. You –" she paused, trying to gather herself. She could feel tears welling up her eyes. Rachel tried to hold them in, tried to tell herself that Santana was there; that even though she had died, she was somehow sitting across from Rachel (and even if it all was some grand delusion, she clung to it as best she could.)

"There was so much blood," she cried out, shaking her head. Her vision blurred, just as it had that night, and red swam across it.

"Jesus, don't cry," she heard Santana say. "Fucking – Berry! Berry!" she yelled. "Rachel, snap the hell out of it."

And Rachel tried, she really did, but all she could see were eyes, big and brown and staring at her in pain. They were raw and emotional and Rachel had never seen them look as lost and hopeless as when the life was slipping out of them. They were tinged with the redness swirling in her eyes, blurring together until all she could see was death.

And then those brown eyes were right in front of her, and their owner was nudging her. A hesitant hand ran down her arm, its coldness making her shiver. Rachel exhaled heavily, letting the coldness fill her and bring her back into the moment she was _supposed_ to be in – the present.

The present was death, too, but this death was moving around, speaking and blinking and touching her, and it was so much better than the memory of death in her mind.

"Someone killed you," Rachel gasped, sniffling.

"Who?" Santana asked tensely. "I'll kick his ass."

Rachel shrugged, wiping at her cheeks. "The police don't know. They said he was just a drifter coming through town," she answered.

Santana's face contorted into a frown. She was still close and Rachel could trace the outline of the black circles beneath her dark eyes, see the lines across her face as she scowled. Her complexion was an unnatural shade of white, like someone had taken beige and mixed it with grey and painted it across her features. She looked sickly.

"Why?" Santana asked slowly.

"I don't know," Rachel answered. "No one does."

There were things she wanted to add. _I came when you screamed_ , she wanted to say. _I held you in my arms while you gasped and choked and bled,_ she wanted to add. _I watched you die._ She said nothing.

"Rachel?" a voice called out.

Rachel stood immediately, looking about in panic. Santana stood with her, crossing her arms. She didn't say anything. When Quinn reached the pair of them, she didn't appear fazed.

"She doesn't see me," she heard Santana say, standing between her and Quinn. A brisk fall breeze blew past them all, catching Quinn's short hair and tossing it about. "I thought you guys were fucking with me," Santana added, "but I guess _none_ of them can see me."

The thought wasn't reassuring to Rachel, who was still deciding whether or not Santana was all in her head. As if she knew what the smaller brunette was thinking, Santana reached out and poked her in the side with force. Rachel had to bite her cheek to keep from jumping up and squeaking.

"Hi, Rachel," Quinn greeted, not unkindly. She adjusted the knit hat on her head, pulling it down to stop her hair from blowing wildly around her face.

"Hello, Quinn," Rachel responded, a bit too shakily. Next to her, Santana shuffled awkwardly and stared at Quinn with an unreadable expression.

When Rachel didn't say anything more, the blonde shifted her weight, adjusting the bag over her shoulder. "I didn't know you'd be here," she said. "I can leave if you want."

Rachel knew Quinn had lost someone who had been one of her best friends, even if they had drifted away from each other as the spirit of competition turned them into rivals. She remembered the night Quinn called her in tears after the funeral. Quinn was weighed down by her regrets, Rachel knew. Rachel also knew that Quinn Fabray was the only person who was able to handle the heartbroken Brittany.

Next to her, Santana looked uncomfortable with the idea. In front of her, Quinn looked tired and rundown and Rachel knew that she looked the same way. "No, you can stay, if you want," Rachel told her, smiling gently.

Quinn nodded, returning Rachel's smile, and settled down in the cool grass. Rachel sat next to her as they both faced the gravestone of the person they had each come to visit. Behind them, Santana continued to stand with her arms crossed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, but it was comfortable. Quinn had always been somewhat of a rival to Rachel, competing with her for the affections of Finn more often than not. But somehow petty things like relationship drama and love triangles seemed less important in the face of losing someone they all cared about. That someone huffed and then sat down with them.

"How are you?" Quinn eventually asked. "You've been," she paused, thinking for a second, "less loud lately."

Rachel shrugged. "I'm still trying to find the right song."

"You don't have to sing, you know," Quinn said. "You can just talk about it."

Rachel shook her head, ignoring the curious looks Santana was sending her way. "If I can't sing about it, then I don't want to do anything. I'm Rachel Berry. If the proper song doesn't reveal itself to me, then I can only conclude that I have nothing to express on the matter," she told the blonde, nodding emphatically.

"If you say so," Quinn frowned. "But I never thought I would see the day when Rachel Berry didn't have anything to say."

Rachel didn't respond, choosing instead to tighten her jacket around her. The sun was going to go down soon; it had been setting earlier and earlier as fall came upon them. Quinn was right, she knew; Rachel always had something to say. "I just don't know how to say it," she eventually murmured.

Quinn nodded, reaching over and putting a comforting hand on hers. They really had come a long way from the girls they had been when they first met, Rachel mused. "You know that we're all here for you," Quinn told her. "All any of us have right now is the glee club."

The brunette saw movement near her and sighed. She had always forgotten that Santana was there. The less alive brunette leaned towards her. "Ask her about Brittany," Santana said, and her breathe was cold against Rachel's neck.

Rachel shivered, edging away from Santana and in turn, Quinn. "How's Brittany?" she asked.

Quinn shook her head sadly. "About as well as can be expected," she answered. "Santana's been her best friend since they were six," she said, her voice shaking. "Was," she corrected herself, "Santana _was_ her best friend."

Rachel nodded, her face falling. Brittany had once been bubbly and cheerful and full of life, but ever since _that night_ , she had been walking around forlornly, her face always either blank and expressionless or full of pain and sorrow. She had missed more than her share of classes, wandering around purposelessly for hours at a time.

"She really loved her," Quinn continued, a few stray tears falling down her face. She wiped at them with the sleeve of her jacket. She didn't specify who loved whom, and she didn't need to – the glee club spent enough time in the company of Brittany and Santana to know that each one of them loved the other one.

Rachel glanced back at Santana, who was frowning deeply. If she had been able to shed tears, Rachel knew that Santana would be crying. The taller brunette stood up, brushing past Quinn, who shuddered at the sudden cold that swept across her body.

"The wind is really cold," she said. The sky was slowly beginning to darken and Quinn stood up. "I didn't see your car outside."

Rachel stood up with her, trying not to look at the other person standing near them. Was she really a person anymore? Rachel wondered to herself. "I walked," Rachel told Quinn absently.

"Can I give you a ride?" the blonde asked, nodding towards the gate. "It's getting late."

"No, thank you," she answered. "I appreciate your offer, but I would prefer to walk."

Between them, Santana reached out a hand, brushing at some of Quinn's hair. "I was the one who convinced her to get this haircut," she said to no on in particular, her face soft and sad, full of regret. "It looks good. I have really good taste."

Quinn shivered again, putting her hands into her pockets. "I would feel better if you let me give you a ride," she said.

Rachel bit her lip, realizing as Quinn watched her that she was looking slightly to the blonde's left at Santana. The blonde raised an eyebrow at her and she remembered that she should be looking at the person she was speaking to. "Really, Quinn, that's not necessary."

"Please?" Quinn tried. When Rachel didn't answer immediately, she rolled her eyes, reaching towards Rachel and wrapping her hand around the small girl's arm. "I was trying to ask nicely, but I'm not taking no for an answer, okay?"

Quinn's grip on her was firm and Rachel was unable to pull away. The former cheerleader pulled her away from the place they had all been standing, and all Rachel could do was let herself be dragged along.

Her protests fell on dead ears. "We're not going to lose you, too," Quinn murmured, her voice soft but steady.

Looking back, Rachel saw Santana standing in the same place she had been, just in front of the cemetery marker with her own name on it. Her arms were at her sides and she was looking at the slab of cement like she was waiting for the letters on it to change. Santana glanced over her shoulder, staring at Rachel with dead eyes.

That night, Rachel slept fitfully, resisting the urge to sneak out of her house and back to the cemetery, if only to prove to herself that what had happened that afternoon had been real. But when Rachel did manage to sleep, she dreamt of dark dead eyes staring at her like they expected her to change the course of history. They reminded her of what had happened the last time she had been out when she wasn't supposed to be.

She had dreams of darkness and dreams of light, of something ominous floating between them. Rachel dreamt she was trapped, trapped somewhere cold and unbearable; she heard voices in the cold, thin voices that mocked her breathily. There was no light and there was no dark and she could feel movement around her. Warmth crept up on her suddenly, sliding up her back and wrapping around her. It was a feeling – warmth – but it was tangible and it held her there. Warmth, in her dreams, felt like the pressure of hundreds of small hands, pushing against her skin from all angles.

Words were whispered in her ear, words she couldn't comprehend or make sense of. She saw those eyes again, deep brown ones looking to her for answers. _Why am I dying?_ they seemed to ask. _Why am I alive?_ they said. The hands drifted, moving as one across her body and settling over her eyes until she could see nothing.

The next day, Rachel checked out every book the McKinley High School library had on the occult, the paranormal, and the supernatural; given recent budget cuts, that gave her a total of three books to work with. The librarian gave her an odd look, but she ignored it.

Smiling politely at the old woman behind the library desk, she vaguely recalled that she had spent all night dreaming about hands she couldn't touch and voices that she couldn't understand. She remembered feeling pressure and she remembered eyes watching her. Rachel stuffed the books into her schoolbag and frowned. No, she wasn't remembering them; she could feel the pressure still on her, though it was light, and she could feel the eyes, burning into her skin.

Rachel looked around, finding nothing and no one amiss. It did nothing to ease the fear that settled into her stomach.


	4. The Dead and The Moonstruck

_"Children will always be afraid of the dark, and men with minds sensitive to hereditary impulse will always tremble at the thought of the hidden and fathomless worlds of strange life which may pulsate in the gulfs beyond the stars, or press hideously upon our own globe in unholy dimensions which only the dead and the moonstruck can glimpse."  
_ _H.P. Lovecraft,_ _Supernatural Horror in Literature  
_

Rachel Berry quickly decided that both the library at school and the library in town needed new reading material, particularly regarding the paranormal. All she had found was a handful of books that told her virtually nothing about the situation she was in with Santana and a working but useless knowledge of Helltown, Ohio, a place she hadn't even known existed. The internet had also been of very little help. Rachel wasn't even sure what she should be searching for.

 _dead classmate walks among the living; ghost with a body that can only be seen by one person; being haunted by someone who hated you when they were alive; can you physically touch ghosts; dead but not really; what do you do with a dead person; hallucinations; mental instability_

Rachel was completely out of her element and she knew it. She wasn't even sure how to define what Santana was and how she even existed; she didn't know how to explain it, let alone how to find answers to her unexplainable questions. All she had really found were stories from people seeing apparitions and scary spirits, anecdotes from ghosthunters about hauntings and murderous otherworldly creatures, stories from men and women who saw their dead spouses wandering through the house and heard them whispering in their ear at night. None of these applied to Santana, not as far as Rachel could tell – Santana was definitely dead, but she wasn't see-through and she wasn't murderous (well no more than she had been while alive); she didn't drift into Rachel's bedroom at night and knock on her walls from inside them.

She walked towards the cemetery slowly, kicking up the fallen leaves in her path. They were a mix of browns, reds, yellows, and oranges and she was captivated by the sight of them swirling in the wind and crunching beneath her feet.

Did Santana have unfinished business? she wondered. Should she call a psychic or a medium? That's what they always did in horror movies, after all. Rachel considered it, but then she realized that she didn't even know if Lima had anyone with claimed connections to supposed other worlds.

Sighing, Rachel pushed the gate open, grimacing when it creaked embarrassingly loud. She didn't know why the sound bothered her, but it seemed unnatural that there should be such noise in such a sacred place. Cemeteries were meant to be quiet and serene places, places where people could come and grieve and mourn the loss of their loved ones without interruption or distraction.

There was an old man standing over the grave of someone – his wife maybe – with his head bowed and his hands in his pockets. He was whispering to himself, praying, and Rachel weaved around him, walking as silently as she could amid the crispy fallen leaves scattered across her path. She was rows away from him, but when she passed him, he looked up at her. He had clear blue eyes and they made her think of the sky in spring time, when the first sign of green grass and flowers start to appear and the world feels like hope instead of sunless sadness. He nodded at her, his cap sliding down his head a little bit, and left as she continued to walk past him.

Looking around, Rachel didn't see anyone. "Santana?" she called out. There was no answer. She made her way to Santana's gravestone, trying to decide once again whether or not she was losing her mind. She was also trying to decide whether or not to talk about her graveyard encounters with her therapist, who would likely either give her cognitive perspective on what she was experiencing or throw her in an institution.

And then she spotted feet, ankles peeking out from the other side of Santana's tombstone. All she could see were black flats standing out against the brown-green grass on the other side of the granite. She took a deep breathe and steadied herself. Something was wrong, something she could feel in her gut.

Rachel took tentative steps towards the stone. Slowly, the length of the legs started to become more visible the closer she got. They were an ashy white grey color, the skin loosely hanging on to the bones below it. Closer still and the legs disappeared under the hem of a skirt. It was plaid, a mix of warm reds and oranges and browns meant to capture the essence of fall.

It was familiar. It was _too_ familiar.

She paused, smoothing down the pleats on her own skirt, a plaid mix of warm reds and oranges and browns meant to capture the essence of fall. Rachel took a deep breathe, steeling herself. She stood there and the leaves crunched behind her. But she hadn't moved – she was completely stationary and there were leaves being stepped on behind her and god, that was her skirt, the one she was wearing.

"Hey."

"Oh my god," she cried, whipping around and putting her hand over her heart.

Santana raised her hands up. "Whoa," she said. "Easy there, Berry."

Rachel exhaled shakily, inhaling again several times. She glanced behind her, seeing only dying fall grass behind the tombstone with Santana's name on it. The feet, the legs, the skirt – they were all gone.

"You okay?" Santana asked. "What was that about?"

Rachel shook her head uneasily, looking around. She saw no other bodies around them, living or dead. It was quiet and solitary, as a cemetery should be. "It was nothing," she said. "I've just been feeling a bit spooked lately."

Santana shrugged. "Yeah, well," she paused. "That's life?"

"So it appears," Rachel said. "Things have been infinitely stranger since you showed up here."

"Oh, sorry about that," Santana quipped, crossing her arms. "My first thought when I realized I was dead was 'hmm how can I use this to mess with Rachel Berry?'"

Rachel crossed her own arms, biting back a reply. She felt colder the longer she stood with Santana and wished that she had worn something besides a skirt and tights. "I think I've just been reading too much about ghosts and the supernatural. While I wouldn't say that any of the stories particularly scared me, they have left me a bit on edge."

Santana's expression changed from annoyance to a sort of casual interest. "Did you find anything out?"

Rachel's response was solemn. "No," she said. "I tried all the books at school and at the public library. I even tried searching online. But to be honest, Santana, I'm not entirely sure what I should be looking for. I don't understand anything about what's happening."

"Well I know about as much as you do," Santana answered. At Rachel's look of doubt, she bit her lip. "Really, Rachel, I'm about as lost as you are."

Santana shrugged again, her gaze drifting towards the ground. She kicked at a few of the leaves in front of her and Rachel saw that Santana really was just as lost as she was. Maybe the taller brunette was even more lost, Rachel thought, because after all, she wasn't even supposed to be there.

"Maybe you could tell me a little bit more about what things are like for you?" Rachel tried, knowing that what she _did_ know was infinitesimal and led nowhere. "For example, are you always here, in the cemetery? I didn't see you when I came in and you didn't follow me and Quinn yesterday."

In what was becoming a familiar pattern for the two of them, they sat down on the grass near Santana's tombstone. Rachel decided then that she was definitely going to have to start wearing pants, if only so she stopped ruining her tights. Santana tore some of the grass up, twisting it in her fingers and ripping it into pieces.

"I – I don't know. I guess I'm always here," Santana said, "maybe."

Rachel's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

Santana looked thoughtful for a moment. "I guess I'm always here," she mused. "It's hard to tell. Sometimes, I'll see you or I'll see Quinn or Tina or someone else, and then you'll leave. And I'll be by myself for a bit. And then it's –" she stopped.

Rachel waited patiently for a moment, watching Santana's face scrunch up. "It's," she drawled out, prompting her.

"You know how when you go to bed at night and you lay there for a little bit with your eyes closed and you start to drift off?" Santana asked. Rachel nodded. "And like, you're kind of awake and asleep at the same time - your eyes are closed and maybe you're starting to dream but you're awake and you can feel it? And then suddenly, you're opening your eyes again and it's morning and you didn't even know that you'd fallen asleep in the first place?"

"It's called hypnagogia, I think," Rachel said. "It occurs while you're transitioning between the states of wakefulness and sleep."

"Well, it's kind of like that," Santana responded. "I'll see one of you and then I'll just wander around here for a bit. And then I'll close my eyes and when I open then, there one of you is again. But you're wearing different clothes and there are more leaves on the ground than before."

Rachel had to admit that what she was hearing intrigued her. If she was going to be dropped in the middle of something strange and unnatural, at least it was interesting something. And Santana's voice was surprisingly smooth. It was still raspy, the way it had been when she was alive, but there was a different quality to it, something more soothing. Santana had a nice speaking voice, Rachel thought, when she wasn't using it to snap at people and curse.

"So you don't know what happens when you close your eyes?" Rachel asked. Santana shook her head, still twirling grass in her hands. "And it doesn't happen every time you close them, either," she noted, "because you've been blinking and you're still here."

"I really don't know what the fuck is happening, anymore," Santana said.

"But you're always in the cemetery?" Rachel pressed on. It was almost thrilling, to have a mystery sitting in front of her, to have something to focus on that didn't involve wondering why some people died so young and so tragically.

"I can't leave. I try all the time," Santana answered, staring at the ground sadly. "I can't open the gate; I can't climb the fence. I even tried following some old guy the other day, but when I tried to get out the open gate, suddenly I was on the other side of the cemetery and it was already closed. I can't get out."

The wind picked up, blowing up some of the leaves near them. A few got caught in Santana's hair and she picked them out. Rachel tucked her hands underneath the legs, trying to warm them. Goosebumps rose up on her arms, despite the fact that she was wearing a jacket. It was an unusually cold October in Lima.

"Are you cold?" Santana asked. In a move that looked like it surprised Santana as much as it did Rachel, she reached out and ran her hands up and down Rachel's covered arms, pressing down on them as she did so. If the taller brunette had been alive, it would have helped.

But she wasn't alive and Rachel shivered, pulling away apologetically. "That doesn't really help," she said softly. "That makes me even more cold."

Santana's hands dropped back to the ground. "Oh," she said, her voice quiet. Her face had fallen and Rachel thought she might have looked hurt. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Rachel answered, sending her a small smile. "I appreciate the thought."

The decidedly less alive brunette shrugged. Silence settled around them and Rachel wondered what to fill it with. Santana looked to be deep in thought and so Rachel started thinking, too. She wondered if she could tell Santana about the dreams she had been having lately or about the lower limbs of the body she had seen earlier that day. But it didn't seem right for her to drop her own unsettling thoughts on someone who already seemed as unsettled as any person, alive or dead, could be.

No, she would tuck those things away in her mind for now. She needed to figure out what was happening with Santana before she could worry about her own troubled mind.

Rachel's phone rang, cutting through the silence. She mouthed 'sorry' to Santana as she answered. "Hello?"

"Rachel, where are you?" her dad Leroy asked.

Rachel checked her watch. It wasn't terribly late – the sky was still light – but he sounded worried. "I'm at school," she lied. "I've been practicing, of course." Santana was watching her, confused.

She heard him sigh. "Rachel, I'm at the school right now. There's no one in the choir room or the auditorium."

"I –" she stuttered, realizing that it would do no good to lie to him now. "I'm at the cemetery."

"Your father and I are really worried about you, baby," he said. "We don't think it's healthy for you to spend so much time there."

"Daddy, I'm fine," Rachel answered. "Really."

"Just come home, sweetie. We can make some of that spiced tea that you like and watch a movie," Leroy told her.

"Daddy –"

"That wasn't a question, Rachel," he said. "Come home."

Rachel pursed her lips. She was tired of everyone trying to look after her. She knew they were all watching her – Mister Schuester and the rest of the glee kids, her fathers. She could practically feel their eyes on her at all times, making sure that she was "okay." Her fathers had been keeping tabs on her every move, it seemed. She was growing increasingly frustrated with all of them.

"Fine," she shot back, her voice hard. Across from her, Santana raised an eyebrow at her. Rachel hung up and threw her cell phone on to the ground. "My dads want me home right now," she told her.

Santana huffed. "So? Just ignore them and go home later," she said.

"I can't do that," Rachel responded. "They'll send out a search party if they think I'm taking too long."

"That's the stupidest thing I have ever heard," Santana said harshly, obviously annoyed.

"They're just worried about me," Rachel muttered, picking her phone up and stuffing it in her bag. "They want to make sure that I'm okay."

Rachel stood up slowly, throwing her bag over her shoulder. Santana stood up with her, glaring as she did so. "You're almost eighteen. You're practically an adult," Santana cried. "Now that I think about it, Quinn was pretty eager to shuttle you home yesterday."

Rachel shuffled in place, smoothing down the hair that hung out from underneath her hat. "As I have already explained, they just want to make sure I'm okay."

"Okay, your dads I get. But Quinn Fabray?"

Rachel bit her lip and her eyes slid closed. She could feel the memories bubbling up again, hoping to force themselves up into her conscious mind. They were trying to escape and she pushed them back down. A lump built in her throat and she felt guilty for holding the worry of her friends and family against them. "I should go," she murmured, opening her eyes.

Santana's annoyance had been replaced to something akin to worry. She sighed, her eyes darting away from Rachel. "Will you come back?" she whispered.

Santana looked sad, lonesome and lost and suddenly very small, standing amid large slabs of granite and fallen leaves. Rachel felt tears build up in her eyes. "Of course I will," she said.

"Okay," Santana told her, and tears might have built in her eyes if they could have. She nodded, her lower lip trembling. "Good."

Rachel unzipped her backpack, pulling out a couple of books. She held them out and Santana took them from her, their fingers brushing. A burst of cold shot up Rachel's arms from the point of contact and she shuddered. Santana sent her a look of apology and Rachel waved it off. "In the meantime, maybe you could read through these and see if you find anything?"

Santana nodded, thumbing through the pages of the book on top. Rachel had already been through both of them and she knew there was nothing useful in them. But Santana just looked so dejected at the thought of being left by herself that Rachel felt like she had to do something.

Rachel smiled, putting on the bravest face she could. She honestly didn't want to leave. Santana wasn't alive and there was something to that – odd things were happening that made no sense to either of them. Rachel should have been scared, and sometimes she was, but she realized that Santana was the only person in her life who treated her like she always had. She didn't look at Rachel with worry and pity in her eyes; she didn't inquire about her whereabouts every minute of every day; she didn't try to pick Rachel's mind apart and re-compartmentalize the mess that was left.

"I have an appointment after school," Rachel said, "but I'll come back as soon as I can."

Santana smiled at her gratefully. "Bye, Rachel."

Rachel returned her smile and started towards the gate. When she exited, she turned back around to close it, looking past the lines of tombstones to the one she knew better than anything. She half-expected the other girl to be gone, but she could see Santana sitting on the ground, her back up against her own gravestone and her knees up to her chest. Rachel waved and then smiled when Santana returned the gesture.

* * *

A loud noise woke Rachel up around one a.m. She sat up, startled, and looked around wildly. Her room was as it should have been, tomorrow's clothes set up neatly on her desk chair, her backpack sitting beneath it. The moon was almost full, pouring in through the window and bathing everything in silver.

No, she amended, not everything was as it should have been. The window was open, a light breeze blowing through the curtains. Or had she left it open when she went to bed?

"I must have forgotten to close it," she told herself, rising up out of bed and striding towards the window. She didn't recall ever opening the window in the first place, but that was a minor detail that she was willing to overlook as simple forgetfulness. She _did_ have a lot on her mind.

Rachel reached the window, looking outside briefly as she pushed it closed. The moon was bright and it looked impossibly close, almost like she could reach out and touch it. She rubbed at her eyes and grabbed the curtains, pulling them back together to keep the light out.

Something caught her eye – a movement on the ground below her. Something flashed near the base of the tree outside her window and she felt like she could reach out and touch it, too. And so she did try to touch it.

Rachel pulled the window back open, the nighttime cold rushing in her room and sweeping over her. She reached her hand out. There was movement again and she saw dark hair whipping around, blowing out from behind the tree. It was dark and it looked impossibly soft, like liquid obsidian flowing somehow upwards out of nothing. Rachel wanted it, wanted to wrap strands of it around her finger and keep them there forever.

She climbed out the window in her pajamas, her bare feet finding purchase on a branch. The wind blew again and suddenly the hair was gone. Something caught her eye down the street, and it was silver and shining and Rachel suddenly wanted it, too. She wanted to run her hands through it and slip into it and never leave.

So she started climbing down the tree, scraping her limbs across the bark. She didn't care about that, though, and she moved as fast she could. The blackness hadn't waited for her and she knew that the silver wouldn't either. Before she knew it, she was on solid ground, cold sliding up her legs through the soles of her bare feet.

Rachel looked down the street, catching glimpses of silver in the light of the moon. It was moving. Colors danced across her vision as light caught the essence of what she was following. She wanted all of them, all of the colors dancing in the moonlight ahead of her. She was moving, she realized, walking after them. She wanted to crawl up inside the light and the swirling _everything_ and sleep in the glow of the moonlight.

The movement was faster, suddenly, and she hurried to keep up. Rachel broke out into a run, speeding after it. The colors were moving too fast now, blurring together into patches of blackness, and she had to be fast if she was going to catch them.

She could almost touch it now, the miasma of dancing silver that caught the moon in reds and oranges and greens and blues and purples. She could almost taste it. She was so impossibly close. She reached out as she ran, her fingers outstretched.

And then they were gone, the blackness and the silver and the dancing echo of lights and colors.

They were gone and Rachel suddenly realized that she was freezing, that it was incredibly cold outside and that she was in her pajamas and had no shoes on and the cold was seeping through her skin and creeping through her blood.

"Rachel? What the hell are you doing out here?" she heard.

She looked around, trying to find herself and trying to find the voice. She was in the cemetery again, she realized. The moon was still bright, illuminating the gravestones and the girl standing in front of her, but it seemed very far away. Which was odd when she considered how close it had been before.

"Santana?" Rachel asked suddenly.

"Jesus, Rachel, you're going to freeze to death," she heard and hands slid up over her arms, rubbing them. Suddenly, they pulled back and she was no warmer or colder than she had been before.

And was she on the ground? Rachel could feel grass beneath her palms and dirt collecting on her hands. She was on all fours in front of Santana's grave, the other girl looking at her in shock and concern. She felt arms slip underneath her armpits, pulling on her, bringing her to her feet.

"Rachel, you need to go home," she heard. Rachel could see Santana's eyes shining in the moonlight and she forgot how to stand up. "What's wrong with you? Fuck, Rachel, come on. Get up. If you get sick, you won't be any good to either of us."

Was that what she was supposed to be doing? Standing up? Being good?

"But the light," someone muttered, and it sounded like her (if she were shivering and shaking.) And she realized that it _was_ her, because she _was_ shivering and shaking. Santana was still trying to pull her up and Rachel looked up at her through her eyelashes, watched the moonlight catch her hair.

And then she was gone.

* * *

When Rachel woke up, she was in her own bed, several blankets covering her body. She was warm and there was a light sheen of sweat sticking to her skin. It was daylight and sun was shining in through the window. Had she been dreaming? she wondered. Had she overslept and missed school?

Her father Leroy came in as she was trying to untangle herself from all the sheets wrapped around her. He looked disappointed and Rachel didn't understand why. "Rachel, what the hell were you thinking?" he cried.

"I don't – what happened?" she asked.

"I'm waiting for you to tell me," he said, sitting down on her bed. She tried to remove some of the blankets on top of her but he stopped her with a firm hand.

"I don't remember," she said earnestly. "Did my alarm not go off?"

Leroy shook his head, taking one of her hands. "No, Rachel," he told her. "You weren't in bed this morning. We thought you might have gone to school early, but your things were still here." Rachel stared at him, confused. "Sweetie, the police found you in the cemetery this morning, shoeless and in your pajamas. They said that you were lying on Santana's grave."

The cemetery. Yes, she had been there, she realized. She had been there in the dead of night when the moon was at its highest and brightest. She remembered Santana and she remembered something about light and something about darkness and wanting to cradle both of them in her arms.

And then she shook her head and forgot again. Maybe. Until her father asked her again what she was doing there. Rachel didn't have an answer for him. She kept forgetting what the question was. She did remember that she preferred the nightmares inside her head to the nightmares outside her head.


	5. The Soles of Your Feet

_"The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins._   
_It always wins because it is everywhere._   
_It is in the wood that burns in your hearth, and in the kettle on the fire; it is under your chair and under your table and under the sheets on your bed. Walk in the midday sun, and the dark is with you, attached to the soles of your feet._   
_The brightest light casts the darkest shadow."_   
_Matthew Stover, The Lone Candle_

Rachel's fathers refused to let her leave the house for the rest of the day. She had tried to convince them to let her leave when school was ending, to go see her teachers before they left so that she could get her homework. She tried telling them that she should be allowed to go to glee, because after all, she was the lead and she needed to be there or else they would be directionless and without their best voice. But her fathers remained absolute.

Rachel was surprised then, when the doorbell rang in the afternoon. She didn't answer it, because she was confined to her room, but after a few minutes, her father opened the door. Rachel was surprised to see Brittany wander in.

Rachel stood up from her desk. "Brittany, hello," she said kindly. "What can I do for you?"

Brittany's hair was in disarray, half in a ponytail and half in stringy tendrils down over her face. The top of her uniform was on backwards and she was wearing socks of two different colors. Rachel was surprised that Coach Sylvester allowed her to walk about with her uniform so messed up.

The tall blonde was bouncing on the balls of her feet and picking at her fingernails. She shrugged. "Mister Schue told us why you couldn't come to school today," she said, unzipping her backpack. She pulled out a stack of papers and held them out to Rachel.

Rachel took them from Brittany, who went back to picking her nails. There were a couple of worksheets and some written directions scribbled on a couple of post-its. "You brought me my homework?" she asked, more than a little flabbergasted.

Brittany nodded. "Mister Schue told me to. He gave it to me in glee club."

"Well, still, it was very sweet of you to deliver my schoolwork to me," she said.

"You're welcome," Brittany said simply, looking around at Rachel's room. "I like your room."

"Thank you, Brittany," Rachel responded, seeing how awkward Brittany looked, awkward and uncomfortable and more than a little sad. It was the way Brittany always walked around, like her puppy was continually being kicked. And perhaps it was, Rachel mused, thinking about Santana. Brittany had no idea that she was still in the cemetery, lingering beyond death. "How was glee club?" she tried.

Brittany frowned, biting her lip. Her face fell. "It was okay. Mister Schue said that we need to start looking for a new member. You know, to replace –" she stopped, her brows furrowing and her lips trembling. "S-s –"

Rachel moved closer to her and put a hand on her back. "I know, Brittany," she said. "You don't have to say it."

Brittany nodded, wiping at tears falling down her face. "I don't want to replace her!" she cried. "This is all my fault. I'm so stupid."

Rachel shook her head adamantly. "No, Brittany, it's not your fault at all," Rachel answered. "You had no way of knowing what would happen. And Santana wouldn't want to hear you talking like this."

"It doesn't – it's – she shouldn't have been outside," Brittany sobbed. "If she hadn't come to my house…if I hadn't sent her home, she would still be alive."

"Brittany –"

"But I did and now she's gone and someone has to replace her," Brittany said with a deep sob. "I don't want a new Santana."

"Brittany, this is not your fault," Rachel repeated, rubbing her back. "No one can ever replace Santana Lopez –" Brittany interrupted her with a sob at the use of Santana's full name. "Mister Schuester just means that we need to find enough members to compete at competitions. We're going to win this year, and we're going to do it for her, okay?"

Brittany sniffled. "Glee club was her favorite part of the day. Santana's been singing since she was like, three. We used to put on shows together," Brittany told her, trying to stop her tears.

Rachel smiled softly, a few tears leaking out of her eyes. She didn't have the heart to correct Brittany's tense change. "And that's why we're going to work hard and win Nationals this year. And if I have my way, which I will because I always do, we'll sing something that she loved and you can dance to it," she said. The idea hadn't occurred to her until that moment, but as soon as she thought it, she knew it was the right idea. It would be healing for all of them, Brittany most of all.

"Perhaps you can help us decide what songs we should use?" she asked the blonde patiently.

Brittany smiled at her shakily, still crying. "Okay," she agreed. She pulled Rachel into a hug suddenly, resting her chin on Rachel's shoulder. "Thanks, Rachel," she said. "You're a good friend."

"We're all your friends, Brittany," Rachel told her, squeezing her tightly. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask me or anyone else from glee."

Brittany nodded, pulling away. Her eyes were watery and she still looked unbearably sad, but there was a small smile on her face and it gave Rachel hope.

* * *

Brittany eventually left, realizing that she was supposed to be at cheerleading practice. Rachel tried several times after her departure to convince her fathers to let her leave, but Rachel was confined to her room – they wouldn't even let her wander through the rest of the house. She went to the bathroom at one point and her father darted upstairs as soon as her door opened to make sure she wasn't trying to go anywhere.

The only time she was allowed to leave the house was to go to her weekly therapist appointment.

Rachel's therapist was young, a thirty-something woman with calm green eyes and light brown hair. She asked, in what Rachel assumed was bid at making herself seem "cooler," that Rachel called her by her first name, Amelia. Rachel didn't care what she was called; the fact that her parents thought she needed to talk to someone made her uneasy. The idea that she might need outside help was ludicrous and a little insulting. Rachel had always taken care of herself.

Mostly, it was the notion that she was somehow not okay that bothered her. Cradling Santana's dying body in her arms had rapidly told her everything she needed to know about the ideas _okay_ and _not okay_ : she was alive and that meant that she was okay. The only alternative Rachel had been seeing of late was death, and that was distinctly _not okay_ ; watching the life slip out of someone who had been fiery and passionate while alive was definitely _not okay_. And Rachel could breathe and she could sing and that already made her more okay than Santana would ever be.

Well, the present notwithstanding, she thought. Santana might not breathe, but Rachel reckoned that she could probably sing if she really wanted to.

Amelia cleared her throat and looked at Rachel expectantly. She had a notepad sitting on her lap and she was smiling. She seemed nice enough, but Rachel hated the feeling that she was always being watched for signs of craziness. If she was being watched, it should have been because she was stealing the spotlight on a stage and impressing people with her voice.

"I'm not crazy," she muttered.

"Did anyone ever say that you were?"

Rachel pursed her lips. "They don't have to. I am neither blind nor oblivious to the looks that people keep giving me. I know when people are trying to monitor me."

All she could think as she sat there was that Santana was waiting for her. Rachel had promised that she would return and she had every intention of keeping that promise. She remembered the look of sadness in Santana's face when she had to leave. Their positions were so precarious, both in general and with each other. Rachel had to get the cemetery. This appointment was wasting time.

"It makes you uncomfortable that people might be worried about you?" Amelia asked.

Rachel sighed, rubbing her fingers across the seam of her pants. "It's not that I don't understand their concern. More than anyone, I understand their worry. But they fail to realize that I'm not a child and I'm not losing my mind."

It was petulant, she briefly thought, for her to be acting childish about being treated like a child. "My fathers won't even let me leave the house today. I heard them talking earlier about making a schedule so that one of them can be with me at all times."

"Well, where did you want to go today, Rachel? Maybe we could talk to them together about letting you hang out with your friends."

Friends, she mused. More like dead people in cemeteries. Rachel had been caught in a lie before. Perhaps if she were honest, her therapist would understand and tell her fathers that she had to go to the cemetery. She needed to be there; more than anything, she had to be there. "Actually, I wanted to go back to the graveyard."

"I don't know that they would allow that right now," Amelia said kindly. Rachel scowled; of course she didn't understand. "They're worried that you're spending too much time there. Do you not agree with that?" she asked, seeing the look on Rachel's face.

"Of course I don't agree with them," she said. "I'm just trying to find peace," she tried. And that was true: she _was_ trying to find peace. She had just shifted her priorities towards helping Santana before she did so.

"Is that why you went to the cemetery last night?" Amelia asked, writing something down on her notepad. "To find peace?"

"Last night?" Rachel wondered. Oh, she thought, that's right. She remembered that she did go to the cemetery in the middle of the night. What had it been again? There was something she was looking for? Something she was trying to get? Or was it trying to get her? What was it that -

"I'm sorry, what were you inquiring about?" she said, looking at her therapist curiously. Her therapist, she realized. That was right, Rachel thought; she was at her appointment.

Amelia stared at her for a moment, assessing her probably, before she made another note. "The cemetery, Rachel. I was asking why you snuck out of your room in the middle of the night and stayed in the cemetery."

"Oh."

Amelia made more notes and Rachel listened to the sound of her ballpoint pen scratching across her paper. At the rate she was taking notes on her, Rachel assumed that she was never going to make it to see Santana. "Rachel, what do you usually do at the cemetery when you go there?"

Rachel tried to remain straight-faced. What she did at the cemetery was certainly a complicated question; one with an answer that she was sure would get her locked in her room forever. And then she could never go back, could never see Santana or the cemetery ever again.

"I merely do the things one is expected to do at the cemetery," Rachel answered politely, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knees. She smiled. Rachel Berry was a consummate actress and if she had to play a role in order to convince people that they should give her more space, then so be it. _Today, I will play a typical teenager who hasn't been conversing with her dead friend_ , she thought.

"And what would that be?"

"Grieving," she answered simply.

Amelia nodded. "How do you grieve, Rachel?"

Rachel faltered only slightly. "What do you mean? I grieve the same way you do, the same way anyone does."

"Actually, everyone reacts to tragedy and death differently," Amelia told her kindly. "Your fathers tell me that music is an important part of your life, but you haven't been singing lately. Tell me about that."

Rachel faltered more now before steeling herself again. An idea came to her and she grasped it as tightly as she could. "That's what I've been doing," she said. "I go to the cemetery and I sing."

"Oh?" Amelia questioned again. Rachel nodded without hesitation.

* * *

Rachel's plan didn't work, unfortunately. She had assumed that since they wanted her to be healing, her fathers would be comforted when they heard that she was singing. And while it was true that they were pleased to find that out (the fact that it was a lie made her only a little guilty) it did little to ease their discomfort at Rachel spending her time in a cemetery at the grave of a girl who had mostly been her enemy while alive. After they had spoken with Amelia privately, they had agreed to allow Rachel visits twice a week.

It wasn't enough. Rachel had a very immediate and pressing need to get to the cemetery. She could see Santana's lonely and confused eyes pleading with her, asking her if she would come back. She could see Santana's wide and confused eyes pleading with her, begging her to take away the pain of dying. Rachel couldn't take it if she let those eyes down again; she wasn't going to allow it.

Perhaps it was unhealthy and they had a right to be worrying, Rachel thought, lifting her leg up and over the windowsill. She tentatively found purchase on the branch outside her window. Maybe they were right to keep an eye on her.

She lifted her other leg out the window and took a deep breathe. Rachel had never really climbed a tree, not that she could recall, and she could only assume that what she was about to do would end with her lying dead on the ground. Well, she mused, perhaps she would come out on the other side like Santana.

Rachel swallowed thickly and reached her arms out, bringing her full weight off of her windowsill and on to the tree branch. She balanced precariously and unsteadily for a moment before slowly crouching down and managing to sit on the branch. She looked down and was suddenly aware of how high off the ground she was. Rachel knew that if she leaned back, just a little bit, and let her grip on the branch waver and fail for a only moment, then she would fall and likely hit her head at least one branch on the way down.

And then it would be over: all of the looks and the pity and the discomfort and the tightening feeling in her chest when she looked the left of her and found Tina instead of Santana. Maybe she _would_ come out in the other side like Santana. Or maybe she wouldn't come out on the other side at all. But perhaps that wouldn't be so –

"Oh sweet Barbra, what am I thinking?" she muttered to herself. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

Rachel slid down the branch she was on slowly, finding the closest one below her. Her progress was slow and laborious and there were more than a few times that she had to stop and rethink her choices. Eventually, though, Rachel made it to the lowest part of the tree outside her window and dropped to the ground with a thud. She took a few steadying breathes and smiled at herself as she stood up straight. Rachel smiled, tightening her jacket around her.

* * *

"Santana?" she whispered into the cool night air. She was glad that she had brought a flashlight; the only light that made it into the cemetery was at the edge closest to the road where the streetlights could just barely permeate the darkness. She needn't whisper, she knew, but it was dark and all she had was a flashlight and somehow whispering felt appropriate for the stillness of the night.

Rachel spun around slowly, craning her head in all directions and looking for Santana. She swung her flashlight about, leading its beam over the tops of the grave markers around her. She paused when she reached Santana's grave, letting her flashlight linger on the name there. There was movement near her (she could feel it) and she turned around. There was a spark, a brief shot of something blue off to her left. And then it was gone. Where did it - _oh_ , she thought suddenly, _what am I doing_? Santana. Right.

Looking around again, all Rachel saw was granite tombstones and flowers, fake flowers made of cloth and plastic that could last long enough that they only had to be replaced once a year. A hollow feeling settled in the pit of her stomach and she thought of real flowers – white roses for the girl she loved. White roses with buds that shook as the hand holding them clenched and convulsed; that lost some their petals in the midst of the chaos; that were the only living thing left in dark alleys where one girl dies on the inside and one girl just dies. Rachel and Santana.

"Go away," she heard Santana say and suddenly the other girl was standing before her. Rachel's eyes adjusted to the lack of light and she could see Santana's form in front of her, could trace the curve of her lips and the angles of her cheekbones. And Rachel thought of moonlight and death and flowers and took a protesting Santana in her arms. She wrapped them around Santana, engulfing her in the biggest hug she could. She let the cold wrap around both of them together.

"Go away," Santana said again, struggling against Rachel's tight grip on her.

Rachel pulled away. "I'm so sorry that I didn't come earlier," she said quickly. Santana was glaring at her. "My dads wouldn't let me leave the house at all today. I had to go to my appointment and I tried to convince my therapist to help me but she didn't. And then I had to wait for my dads to go to bed to sneak out of the house."

Santana's glare didn't soften at all as she spoke. She rolled her eyes. "Therapist?" she asked.

Rachel nodded. "Yes, but she was no help at all. I started leaving a while ago, but I underestimated how long climbing down the tree in our yard would take," she told Santana. "But I'm here now, so certainly that should count for something."

"I kind of figured you just weren't going to come," Santana shrugged. "Your dads have you under lock and key because of last night, huh?"

There it was again. Last night. Last night and that nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she was forgetting something important. Rachel nodded.

"What the hell was that, by the way?" Santana questioned. "You show up here in the middle of the night, acting like you're strung out, and then you collapse and don't wake up?"

"I - I don't -" she stuttered. "I don't know."

And that was very true. She remembered that she came to the cemetery for a reason; there was something important. She tried to focus, tried to find the memory of the previous night in her mind. She had to dig deep and then she almost had it, it was just there and she could barely brush it with her fingertips. It was warm and it shifted in her mind's eye.

She could see Santana looking at her worriedly. Was that her memory? No, Santana was standing over her, her brows furrowed as she reached down to help Rachel sit up. "Okay, seriously. What the fuck, Rachel?"

"I don't know!" Rachel cried. "I don't know what's happening. How did I get on the ground?"

"You just kind of fell over," Santana said. "It was kinda funny, actually."

Rachel looked at her, exasperated, and went to say something. But then she realized how close they were, that she was on the ground and Santana was right next to her, a hand braced on her back to keep her steady. Rachel had dropped her flashlight and it landed with its beam pointed at the two of them. Santana's eyes were dark in its artificial glow.

"Funny?" she asked softly.

"Only just a little," Santana admitted, her voice as quiet as Rachel's own. "Last night wasn't funny, though."

"No?" she whispered.

Santana shook her head. Rachel watched her bite her bottom lip, taking it between her teeth and worrying it. "I stayed with you all night, you know," she eventually said.

Rachel pulled back. "You stayed with me?" she questioned. And then she remembered; she remembered shaking her head and finding herself in the cemetery. She remembered that it was cold and the moon was bright and she felt like she could see everything in the world until the end of time. Rachel remembered Santana, yelling and grabbing at her, trying to get her on her feet and send her home.

Santana swallowed and she pulled back, too, taking her hand from Rachel's back and glancing around. "Yeah, I stayed over there," she said, pointing to a spot nearby. "I remembered that you said that I make you cold. And if you were gonna freeze to death or whatever, I wasn't going to help you out."

Rachel smiled. "Thank you," she murmured. Santana shrugged again, but Rachel caught the hint of a small smile playing at her lips, too. Her back started to warm again after Santana took her hand away, but Rachel almost missed the weight of it there. "I wish I knew what to do about you."

"I wish _I_ knew what to do about me," Santana said.

Rachel reached out tentatively and put a hand on Santana's leg over her dress. The material was rough and Rachel could feel the dirt that clung to it. She wondered whether Santana would wear any other clothes if Rachel brought them to her. She wondered if Santana even could. But Santana hadn't commented on her dress and so Rachel didn't ask. "We'll figure it out," she assured Santana. "I just - I just need to think."

Santana smirked. "Careful now. Last time you did that, you fell over."

Rachel laughed, surprised. Her life had been so strange lately, alternating between moments of confusion and odd happenings and moments where she was smothered and over-cared for. She couldn't remember when she had last laughed at something.

Rachel leaned forward and grabbed the flashlight. She thought maybe that she saw something catch the light, but it was gone before she could remember it. Santana stood up and walked over to her grave, coming back to Rachel with the books she had left and handing them to her.

"Did you find anything?" Rachel asked, knowing what the answer would be.

"Not really," Santana shrugged, kneeling in front of Rachel. "A couple of things looked interesting, but I don't know, all that stuff sounds really stupid, you know? Like, ghosts and vampires and the boogeyman?"

Rachel nodded. "I understand that it all sounds unusual, but all things considered, you don't think we should be looking at those kinds of things?"

Santana ran her palms over the skirt of her dress. "I guess. It's just that that's the kind of stuff our parents tell us to make sure we stay close to home and don't wander away. Oh no, what if the monsters get us?" she mocked.

Rachel stared at her for a moment. "That's very true, for our culture at least," she said. "But for some cultures, stories that we might consider to be the occult or unbelievable are widely accepted as truth."

"Whatever, I'm from Ohio," Santana huffed. "I'm not a monster, I can't fly through walls, and I don't want your blood."

"No, you're not a monster," Rachel exclaimed. "You're not -"

She leaned towards Santana excitedly, running her hands over Santana's face quickly. She felt the cold slip into her fingertips, but she pressed on. Santana's skin was soft; it was of an unnatural pallor, but it was still smooth. Santana protested and tried to get away from Rachel, swatting at her hands. "What the hell, Rachel?"

"You're not decomposing," she said. "I didn't even think about it. I mean, you've been dead for almost a month now. But your skin is still soft."

Santana eyed her warily. "And that tells you what exactly?"

Rachel sat back on her heels. "Well," she started, "nothing specifically. But if we're ever going to figure this out, we need all the information and details that we can get."

"Yeah, I guess. Just warn me next time you decide to get hands-y with the merchandise," Santana said, standing up. Rachel stood up with her.

Leaves rustled around them, which was odd, Rachel thought, because no wind had blown. The sound shot by them in the next aisle, crunching and breaking and tearing the leaves somewhere nearby. Rachel held her flashlight up, pointing it in the direction the leaves were blowing. She twisted her wrist, letting the flashlight illuminate the neighboring graves. There was nothing there, which shouldn't have been as much a surprise to her as it was. She exhaled gratefully.

"What was that about?" Santana asked her.

"I don't know," Rachel breathed, letting her flashlight point back at the ground between them. "Did you hear it, too?"

Santana frowned. "Hear what?" she said. "I was talking about your little light show."

Rachel's flashlight flickered and she hit it, making a note to buy new batteries the next time she was out. "I guess I just got spooked by the wind," she answered.

When she looked up, there was no one there.

"Santana?" Rachel called out. She looked around, shining her flashlight about her in all directions. She heard more leaves crunch from behind her and she turned around, finding no one. "Santana, this isn't funny!"

Rachel stomped her foot. Leave it to Santana Lopez to take advantage of her nervousness and attempt to tease and scare her. "Santana, if you don't come out this instant, I'm leaving. And I'm on probation with my fathers. So there's no telling when I'll be able to come back."

There was definitely movement near her and Rachel crossed her arms. "Santana Lopez, get out here this instant!"

A burst of cold wind blew by her and she spun around once again, jumping and almost dropping her flashlight in the process. A little girl stood before her, wearing a blue sweater with a carousel on it and a matching plaid skirt. Her hair was brown, falling down her back, and held out of her face with two small clips. Her hands were clasped in front of her. She said nothing; she stood there with wide brown eyes and stared blankly at Rachel.

And Rachel ran, turning away and sprinting as fast as she could.

She knew that outfit; it had been her favorite when she was a little girl. And she knew those clips, the little blue butterfly clips that her fathers had given her for her birthday and that someone had taken from her at school, pushing her in the mud and running off. Rachel knew her clothes and her hair and her deep brown eyes and the way she held her own hand because no one else would.

Rachel knew them because they were her; the little girl was her.

She ran all the way home, using her key and slipping in the front door as quietly as she could. It was risky (the door and the stairs creaked rather loudly) but she had neither the patience nor energy to climb the tree again, especially not when she could feel the night pressing against her back and her own eyes staring at her from far away.

Rachel locked both her window and her bedroom door, sliding to the ground and bringing her knees up to her chest. She watched the wind blow the leaves and branches in the tree outside and didn't even try to sleep that night.


	6. Santana's Interlude 1: Joy

" _Ancient Egyptians believed that upon death they would be asked two questions and their answers would determine whether they could continue their journey in the afterlife. The first question was, 'Did you bring joy?' The second was, 'Did you find joy?'"  
_ _Leo Buscaglia_

Santana was on the ground, panting and gasping as she rushed to sit up. Once, when she was seven, she almost drowned; she remembered coughing and sputtering as her lungs finally found air instead of water. She felt that same feeling again, the burning of her lungs as they remembered what it meant to breathe.

The first person she saw was Brittany, lovable Brittany for whom she would do anything; Brittany who was her best friend and her first everything. She saw Brittany and she went to her, wondering as she walked towards the blonde why she was in a cemetery and why the other girl was crying. Better yet, she wanted to know why she was dressed in one of Tina's rejected goth dresses. Santana knew that she always looked good, but the dress she was wearing was rough and constricting.

Santana placed a hand on Brittany's shoulder in comfort. "Britt?" she asked worriedly. "Are you okay?"

Brittany didn't acknowledge her and it made her heart hurt. They had come so far in rebuilding their battered friendship and Santana didn't remember doing anything that would cause their relationship to regress. At least, Santana thought they had come a long way. They had spent their junior year with a tenuous bond between them, broken by Santana's unwillingness to out herself and Brittany's feelings for someone else. They had ended the year as friends, with an open "anything is possible" dangling between them, taunting Santana with its promise of what might come. But suddenly, Brittany was ignoring her, refusing to answer her. And it hurt her, hurt her in the same way that having her heart broken had.

Santana needed Brittany. She needed her best friend.

When Brittany got up and left, sniffling but otherwise silent, Santana got her first look at the grave Brittany had been crying over.

 _Santana Marisol Lopez_

And she closed her eyes and waited to wake up from what had to be a nightmare.

* * *

 _The first time she kisses Brittany, all she can think is that what they were doing was wrong, that she ha_   
_s been told over and over again that girls are only supposed to kiss boys. But Brittany's lips are soft and she tastes like lip gloss and chocolate. It makes Santana wish that Brittany had been her first kiss, that she hadn't kissed Noah Puckerman under the bleachers at school on a dare, because Brittany is a much better kisser._

But he hadn't been her first kiss, had he? There was a lingering thought in her mind that there was someone else there, under the bleachers. Had she kissed both of them? Or was that part of the dream?

 _But it's wrong. She's not even supposed to be kissing Brittany and she's definitely not supposed to be liking it. When she pulls away, she panics, realizing that her door is wide open and her mother could walk in at any moment. And that wouldn't go over well._

 _Brittany smiles at her, though, sweetly, and there's just a bit of chocolate stuck to her chin. She wipes it away and then holds out her hand to Santana. She wants to go play, she says. So they do. And one day, she wants to kiss Santana again. So she does. And Santana lets her._

 _They start kissing more often after that, or Brittany starts kissing her more often and she allows it. Because it's really nice and she doesn't understand why their priest says she's supposed to be kissing Puck instead. Puck is gross and he doesn't sit with her for hours in the park braiding flowers together into jewelry and chasing ducks._

 _Puck never compliments her and tells her that she's pretty. He never knows the perfect thing to say to her when she's sad and he doesn't repeat Spanish back to her in a horrible but endearing fashion. Brittany's Spanish isn't good, but she always tries to remember the important phrases Santana teaches her, ones about love and friends and forever. And she tries to tell them to Santana when she's crying because she doesn't understand why it has to be wrong._

 _Brittany always lets her have the last breadstick. And she always lets Santana ignore her feelings about them. And she lets Santana go around kissing and fucking boys she hates. And Santana knows that she's lucky and she's just happy that she always has Brittany in her life._

* * *

When Santana opened her eyes again, she was still standing in front of a grave in the cemetery, but it was darker. And that grave still had her name etched on it. There was a voice speaking near her and she recognized it immediately. Quinn.

"We all really miss you," she said, her voice cracking.

"What the hell are you talking about, Fabray?" she snapped, crossing her arms.

Quinn didn't answer her, choosing instead to bow her head. Santana heard her mumbling what years of Catholic Church told her was a prayer, a simple prayer for the dead and those left behind to pick up the pieces. Incensed, Santana reached out towards the blonde, intent on shaking some sense into her (or at least an explanation).

"We love you, Santana," Quinn said.

"What the fuck is going on?" she shouted. Santana grabbed her shoulder, tugging on it in an attempt to turn her around, but the girl didn't budge. Quinn didn't move at all, actually, despite the force that Santana was using. She groaned, struggling against whatever weirdness was keeping Quinn completely still. She swore again and Quinn shivered, moving finally.

But it was in the opposite direction of the one Santana had been pulling her in. She moved like it was nothing, walking silently with her head down. Santana chased after her, shouting, but she slipped halfway to the gate, her eyes slipping shut as she braced for impact.

* * *

 _She's ten when she meets Lucy Fabray. Lucy is sweet. She's chubby and her nose is a little too big and she wears thick glasses that make the other kids tease her, but she's still a nice girl. Santana and Brittany don't have any friends besides each other (mostly_   
_because Santana is a little angry and Brittany isn't very smart.)_

 _Brittany feels bad because all the other kids at summer camp are mean to Lucy, stealing her glasses and throwing them into lake, and decides that Lucy should be their friend. Santana doesn't really care one way or the other, but she likes making Brittany happy. So she decides with the blonde that they can take Lucy under their wing. Santana figures that if Lucy actually is worth picking on that they could just easily toss her aside._

 _Santana decides in just a couple of days of getting to know her that she doesn't want to loss Lucy aside. And she's more than willing to make the jerks picking on her be quiet. Lucy is nice, and she's so obviously never had friends before. It secretly tugs at Santana's heart._

And she had done it before, right? With Brittany? She had stopped mean kids from calling her stupid. And she had done it even before Brittany, hadn't she? Maybe? Or were her memories mixing themselves up again?

 _Lucy goes to a different school, one where everyone is as mean to her as the kids at camp. They're worse at school sometimes, she tells them. And eventually, as they actually do kind of become friends, Santana feels like going to that_ other _school beating the crap out of everyone there. Because Lucy is kind of secretly awesome; she gives Santana her dessert at dinner and they talk about books together. Well, it's more like Lucy talks_ at _Santana about books, but her enthusiasm is kind of catching and she has the kind of imagination that makes their games with Brittany ten times more fun._

 _When the new school year starts, they go their separate ways – Brittany and Santana to one school and Lucy back to her own personal hell. They all cry, but Lucy cries the most and Santana promises that if they hurt Lucy too bad, she'll come kick their asses for her. Lucy rarely complains to her, though, when they talk on the phone. Lucy is way more interested in hearing about what she and Brittany are up to. And so Santana is happy to tell her about everything good she can think of, and she knows that Lucy is grateful that she never says anything when Lucy's dad barges in her room at night, angry and yelling at her._

 _When Lucy's mom gets on to her about her looks and her weight and her glasses and the way she walks and the way she carries herself and how shy she is, Santana does say something, though: Santana tells her friend that she thinks she's pretty. And she means it._

 _On their first day of high school, Lucy surprises Santana and Brittany by walking into McKinley High School as_ Quinn _Fabray. It takes some getting used to, this new side of Lucy and this new name that goes along with it, but Santana and Brittany don't mind. They're just happy to have their friend back._

* * *

Her eyelashes fluttered and suddenly she could see again. She wasn't lying on the ground, though; there had been no impact. Impact? she wondered. She was going to hit something? No, that didn't seem right. That was too long ago. She had seen Rachel since then. And she had been told that she was dead. Santana was trying to grapple it, the concept and idea that she was dead.

Her life - was that what she could call it? - was coming to her in snatches, brief pieces of time that might have been days or might have been hours. Santana was aware of what was happening, but only insofar as it was happening in any given moment. Yesterday was the shadow of another time and tomorrow was the future reflected back to her from the picture show in her mind.

Her family's arrival was what really did it, though; it was the moment her heart fully broke. It splintered in her chest painfully, ripping itself into dozens of pieces. Santana hated that she couldn't cry because she desperately wanted to sob, thrash about and lay her fists to the earth in protest.

Her mother was crying, weeping softly and crying enough tears for both her and Santana. She laid flowers down on the ground - lillies because they were her favorite. Santana's father stood stoically beside her, a hand firmly on her back. He showed little emotion, but Santana could trace the lines of pain and stress across his face - the dark circles under his eyes and the way his brows furrowed, the slight downturn of his lips and the way he said nothing.

Santana's little brother stood apart from them, his hands in his pockets as he stared at the ground. Santana thought of every time the eight-year-old had come to her with a new video game or comic book and she had indulged his excited chatter; she thought of every time he came to her and she sent him away because she was too busy. She wanted to ruffle his hair playfully and take him out to buy his favorite ice cream and a new game.

More than that, Santana wanted to go to her family, to scream at them that she was there, that she hadn't left. But she knew that they wouldn't hear her and they wouldn't see her. So she stayed where she was, mostly because to chase after them would be futile and her heart was already too broken to suffer any more.

She closed her eyes, hoping that if she couldn't see them then she could forget them.

* * *

 _Santana is smiling, giggling as she carefully uses the baby spoon to scoop bits of food off of Marco's chin. She's nine, though, and her hand is unpracticed and she ends up smearing mushy carrot puree across his face. He laughs, though, and stuffs his fingers in his mouth. She grab_   
_s a napkin and wipes him off, cleaning his face and his hands while he watches her with big brown eyes._

 _She can hear her parents in the next room, yelling at each other in angry Spanish. Her mother's sleeping with that man again, the one from Cleveland, and Santana doesn't see the problem because her daddy sleeps with the nice nurse with the blue eyes and the endless supply of lollipops. It doesn't make any sense to Santana that they should be fighting; she sleeps with Brittany and sometimes she even crawls into her mom's bed to sleep and neither of those are bad._

She slept in other beds, too, huddled together under a thick warm blanket. It was cold, wasn't it? That was why they slept so closely. For the warmth.

 _Her mother is slamming the door, screaming that she's leaving and they shouldn't expect to ever see her again. It's the second time in a month that she's left them "for good" and Santana has lost count of how many times she's done it since the baby was born. She always comes back, though. She knows it will be three days at most before her mother walks back in like nothing happened._

 _Marco laughs again, reaching his hand into the jar of baby food she's holding. She hears her father in the next room, cursing as he throws a vase and it shatters against the door. She makes airplane noises with the spoon she's holding to distract Marco from the noise and he coos at her in response, opening his mouth. Santana kisses his forehead and ruffles his hair and he smiles. And she's just happy to have his cute little face and sweet disposition in her life._

* * *

The next time she was aware of her eyes reopening, it was already night. Sometimes she drifted in and out of nothingness and she didn't always know she had been gone until she was aware of looking at things again, at seeing the ground underneath her feet and the tombstones around her. This time, she was aware of noises. Someone was muttering. It was Rachel, standing in only her pajamas, mumbling something and stumbling forward. She fell to the ground and shook her head, running her hands through the dirt. When Santana tried to lift her, she fell again and eventually collapsed. Rachel's presence was a mystery to her.

Of course it would be her luck that the only person who could see her was Rachel Berry. No, it couldn't be Brittany or Quinn or even Puck. It had to be Rachel. And of course the only person she could interact with was lying on her grave, unconscious; her one link to the rest of the world just had to pass out in her pajamas during what Santana assumed was a cold night.

Rachel stirred and Santana watched her settle back down again. She sighed. It wasn't that she cared about Rachel - because she most certainly didn't - it was just that if something happened to the girl, Santana would have no one. Not a soul. Forever. Or until whatever came first (Santana wasn't sure anymore.)

She didn't care that Rachel's pink pajamas were sort of cute or that her hair was slightly curly as it fell across her face. Santana brushed it away, her eyes tracing Rachel's jaw line as she did so. Rachel shivered and she pulled away, wishing for a coat or blanket or something to put over her. And she told herself that it was just because she needed Rachel, alive, and not because she cared.

Santana felt a pull in her stomach, like someone was trying to pull her up from the ground by her internal organs. Memories, flashes of things in her mind, were coming to her again. She was starting to be able to recognize the signs of their arrival. Some of them were old memories - pieces of her childhood growing up in Lima. Some of them, though, didn't feel like they were memories at all.

She didn't want to blink - she didn't even need to - but old habits died hard and she closed her eyes. Just for a second.

* * *

 _She's at Brittany's house. It's dark outside and she's standing on a familiar wooden porch in front of a familiar yellow door. She's holding flowers in her hand. She's clutching white roses tightly, hoping that she chose the right ones. Brittany loves flowers, and roses were expensive, which meant that they were the best ones as far as she was concerned._

 _Brittany opens the door, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Santana -"_

" _I love you," she says, knowing that she's never made a simpler or more honest statement in her life. "I want to be with you, for real this time."_

 _She extends her left arm, offering Brittany everything - the flowers, her heart, and her soul. They're all resting between her sweaty fingers, pressed against her palms. Please want me back this time, she thinks._

 _Brittany frowns though, and Santana sees guilt on her features. "Santana," she says sadly._

" _Brittany, please," she pleads. She needs this. She needs this more than anything._

 _Brittany shakes her head. "You don't want me, Santana. You want her."_

" _No, I don't," she cries desperately. It's happening again - her heart is breaking. "I can't be without you. I can't."_

" _I can't be her, S. I'm already me."_

 _Santana says nothing, her arm dropping down to her side, petals brushing her bare legs._

" _Brittany, who is it?" she hears from inside the house. The voice is young and male and Santana knows it can't be her dad. Santana's pretty sure she can feel the fracture that cracks her heart. It's raw and visceral and she's afraid her heart is about to stop beating._

" _Go home, Santana," Brittany tells her, looking back into the house. "You should call her."_

 _And she's just glad that she remembers how to walk away, how to put one foot in front of the other._

* * *

Rachel groaned and Santana's eyes shot open. Rachel was shaking her head, frowning. She reached out her arm, holding her hand out towards Santana. She looked frustrated. Her lips moved, but nothing came out of them.

Santana reached out shakily. "Rachel?" she hissed.

There was no answer, only the outstretched hand of an unconscious girl lying on someone else's grave. The moonlight caressed her cheeks softly and Santana took a deep breathe (even though she didn't need to.) She took Rachel's hand in her own hesitantly, letting Rachel lace their fingers together.

Rachel squeezed her hand and shifted again. The hem of her sleeve slipped up over her wrist and Santana pulled it back down. She wondered if Rachel's skin was warm. All she could feel was a light pressure on her hand as a decidedly un-manly hand gripped it. Rachel's hold on her hand tightened and it almost hurt. Almost.

But the almost-pain made Santana gasp anyway, because it was with the grip that she remembered dying. And even dead, dying still hurt.

* * *

 _Santana feels like she's_   _on fire, her insides ablaze as the knife pierces her skin - once, twice, a third time? More? She doesn't know anymore. Eyes glare down at her, shining in the mixture of moonlight and artificial streetlights. She sees red as the blood flows from her body and her vision blurs. Someone is screaming - is it her? - and the eyes disappear from view. She can still hear the voice ringing in her ears as she falls the ground._

 _His voice is deep and scratchy as he speaks, his voice that of someone who doesn't speak often - like he says so little that when he does say anything, he can't remember how his vocal chords are supposed to work. She can barely make out what he's saying to her now. She can't even hear him properly, though she knows he's speaking. Or was it that she can't remember what he's saying because the blood coating her fingers is warm and viscous and it doesn't matter what he's going on about?_

 _Santana can see the stars above her and she can feel the thorns of the roses she bought biting into the soft skin of her palm. He looms over her again and she can see his eyes - dark and penetrable. She feels like she's looking at the edge of the universe. Oh, she thinks, those are stars above her in his eyes and beyond the plane of his face, so maybe she really is._

" _Oh, my god," she hears; or she thinks; or maybe she says. She's not sure anymore. "Santana."_

 _Eyes come back into her vision, but they're brown this time, scared and confused and worried. Hands are on her, pressing down on her from what feels like all sides, trying to push that burning sensation back into her body. There are tears on her face – her own mixing with the ones falling on her from above._

" _Just hold on, Santana. Please. Please hold on," someone begs._

 _Hold on? Is that what she is supposed to do? she wonders. What should she hold on to? What's left?_

 _A hand cups her face, smearing her own blood across her cheeks. The stars are twinkling and she looks for something to hold on to because that's what the voice in her head is telling her she should do. Someone is stroking her hair and they are telling her to hold on, too. She reaches out and a hand finds hers._

" _Oh, Santana," she heard. She knows that voice, then. And she knows those eyes and those hands._ _Rachel. Rachel's there with her. Rachel came for her. Because she called._

 _And then she closes her eyes and gasps. The stars are gone and she sees nothing. And eventually, she hears nothing. And then after a while, she_ is _nothing._

* * *

When Santana opened her eyes, she was alive again. More or less, she figured. She pulled away from Rachel then, moving to a place nearby. Her heart was heavy in her chest, weighing her down uselessly. Santana cursed. She cursed dying and she cursed living and she cursed Rachel Berry. Because of course it had to be her.

Santana cursed for what might have been hours. If she had been alive, her voice would have eventually given out on her, cracked when her throat was raw. But she wasn't and so she could curse all night. But when people finally came for Rachel in the morning, she followed them as they carried her away. She went as far as she could - to the gate at the edge of the cemetery - and then watched their progress down the road until all that was left was an empty street and a piece of granite with her name on it.

When Rachel came back the next night, properly bundled up and full of apologies, Santana wasn't sure she wanted to hear them. Because she didn't care about Rachel - she didn't - but she didn't appreciate someone breaking a promise to her. But Santana knew that she didn't have much of a choice (Rachel was the only person she had.) So she continued on with their discussion, trying to figure out what the hell had become of their lives, and told Rachel that she stayed with her. She didn't know why she said that, but Rachel had collapsed again and it actually frightened her, and suddenly Rachel was really close to her and she wished that she could properly feel things because the smaller girl was close enough that Santana _should_ have been able to feel her breathe across her cheeks. It had felt, in the moment, like the right thing to say to her.

She couldn't though, and eventually, they pulled away from each other. And then at some point, she blinked and Rachel was gone. And so was she.

* * *

 _She's being pulled, tugged on by her best friend quickly. They're running together through the_   
_trees, laughing and smiling and giggling. There are flowers on her head, orange ones strung together haphazardly and plaited messily in her hair._

 _They're holding hands because that's what best friends do. But suddenly, her grip is too tight and the pressure is too much and her arm starts to hurt. And she asks if they can stop, if she can let go because the pain is too much for her. A hand clenches around hers, holding on to her firmly without letting up. Her sides start to ache and burn and her leg muscles cramp._

 _She starts to cry_   
_then, tears streaming down her face. And then she's begging, pleading for them to at least slow down because it's too much; it's too much and she can't take it. They're going too far, too fast, and her body protests with everything it has. Santana hurts, pain seizing her heart and nestling inside it to take permanent residence there._

 _They don't stop._


	7. Corridors Surpassing

_One need not be a chamber to be haunted,  
_ _One need not be a house;  
_ _The brain has corridors surpassing  
_ _Material place.  
_ Emily Dickinson

Rachel started hearing voices around the start of third period. She couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment they started, but she knew that when her class started and everyone settled down, there shouldn't have been people still speaking. When she looked around, wondering why the class was still talking and the teacher was making no effort to quiet it, Rachel saw that no one was saying anything. When she really focused on the sounds, she realized that they were definitely coming from inside her head.

It was a soft murmur, one she couldn't even properly decipher. It was low barely-there and it reminded her of falling rocks, boulders slipping down the edges and curves of her cerebrum. It was distracting to say the least and unnerved her, as she could now add auditory hallucinations to her growing list of troubling mental symptoms.

She felt someone nudge her and looked over to see Quinn eyeing her curiously. Rachel knew she looked horrible - she hadn't slept at all - and while she did her best to cover up the signs of sleeplessness on her face, she couldn't stop the blank stares or the general look of mental exhaustion that came through in everything she did. She really was just exhausted.

And hearing voices, apparently.

"Are you okay?" Quinn whispered.

Rachel nodded at her automatically. The voices were a dull roar now, echoing through the caverns of her mind until she wasn't sure which thoughts were hers and which weren't.

"Are you sure?" Quinn asked, frowning at her.

Rachel nodded again. It was all she knew to do anymore.

As the day went on, the voices didn't cease. Rachel tried in vain to make out what they were saying, but her attempts were futile. Not only were they impossible to understand, but she was also incredibly tired. It was all she could to make it to her classes, remember to breathe and blink and walk. Rachel was accustomed to going about her day with little sleep - she had a strict regimen to maintain - but this was entirely different. She wasn't used to this, this perpetually confusing state of seeing things and hearing things and running from things.

Rachel couldn't run from the voices, though, not when they were following her so adamantly. It might have been summer and she might have had a bee buzzing incessantly around her head; at the present, however, it was fall and the buzzing was loud enough to cover up most everything else happening around her.

She didn't think she could stand the noise in her head along with the loudness of the cafeteria, so Rachel took refuge in the choir room. She fell back against the door, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes.

" _You'll never."_

Rachel's eyes shot open. It was a hiss in her memory, but it was loud and she had understood it perfectly. "I think that I can safely assume at this point that I'm crazy. That's it. Years of taunting and bullying have stolen my sanity."

A flash of red caught her eye, something near the piano. Stepping towards it slowly, Rachel spied two feet sticking out from under it. They had on white sneakers and mismatched socks.

"Brittany?" she called out, because no one else was getting away with such blatant uniform violations.

There was a moment of silence. "Yeah?" came the quiet response.

Rachel crouched down when she reached the piano. Brittany was sitting underneath it, her legs splayed out in front of her. Her arms hung limply at her sides and her hair was a mess. But she finally had her uniform on the right way and both of her shoes matched.

"Brittany, are you alright?" she asked. "Have you been to class today?"

Brittany shook her head, staring at Rachel blankly. "Is it time for glee yet?"

"No, it's only lunchtime," Rachel said. "Have you eaten?"

Brittany shrugged at her, bumping her arm against one of the piano's legs. "I thought I would just wait here until glee started."

"Under the piano?"

The cheerleader pulled her legs up underneath her, crossing them. "Yeah. Why not? Glee is the best part of the day," she said. "Do you want to wait with me?"

Rachel's eyebrows furrowed, but the silence afforded her a moment of clarity - she was no longer hearing things in her head. There was only her and Brittany and the quiet of the choir room. It was enough to convince her in her exhaustion that she should stay where she was.

She sat down hesitantly, sliding under the piano and settling in the empty space beside Brittany. The blonde smiled at her and Rachel picked at some of the dust trying to cling to her tights. She resolved then to start wearing pants all the time, especially since it seemed that she was always going to find herself on the ground.

"I like the view from under here," Brittany said absently.

Rachel glanced at her and then followed her gaze out over the music room. Everything looked bigger and more imposing from their position, the chairs and equipment seeming to tower over them from across the open space at the front of the room. But everything somehow felt smaller, too, sitting there cramped under the piano with something pressing against her on all sides. It reminded her of being a child, when the world is large, taller than she was and very intimidating from only a couple of feet off the ground. The world had felt bigger then, and she had never felt smaller.

"I like it because it makes me think of being a kid," Brittany said, interrupting her thoughts.

Rachel smiled. "I was actually just thinking that myself, Brittany."

"Really?" She nodded and watched a small smile bloom on Brittany's face. "That's awesome, because like, sometimes I say things and people laugh at me for being stupid."

Rachel grimaced, unable to say anything, mostly because she knew that she was one of the people who often doubted Brittany's intelligence. "I think maybe you just have a different way of looking at the world sometimes," she said kindly.

"That's what Santana always used to say," Brittany told her, biting her lip and looking at the tiled floor beneath them.

"Well," Rachel said, "I'm quite sure that she wouldn't want you to sit under this piano all day. She would want you to keep living - going to class and cheerleading practice."

Brittany's smile broadened and the sight was a relief to Rachel. It was the happiest she had seen the other girl in a long while. "Nah, she'd probably come sit under here with me if I asked," Brittany said. "She'd complain for a while but eventually she would just shut up and do it."

Rachel laughed. It was hard to imagine Santana acting with anyone else the way she acted with Brittany, but it was sweet to imagine. "You two were very close," she remarked.

Brittany nodded. "She's my best friend."

Rachel noted that Brittany's tenses were still changing and it made her wish that she could tell the other girl the truth - that Santana was alive (sort of.) If anyone would believe her, it would be Brittany Pierce. But would it be too much? she wondered. Santana had said that no one else could see her, and that included her blonde best friend. It might not be wise to dangle such possibilities in front of the heartbroken Cheerio, not when Rachel had no way to prove Santana's existence.

Brittany toyed with the hem of her skirt, playing with the strips of fabric that fell across her thighs. "She actually really liked you, y'know," Brittany smiled. "She like, didn't want to like you, but she totally did."

"Oh?" Rachel asked in surprise. She hadn't been expecting such a shift in their conversation. "I always got the impression that Santana hated me."

Brittany shifted, uncrossing her legs and pulling her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs. "She just hated liking you."

"Why on earth would she hate liking someone?" Rachel asked, starting up a mental list of things she wanted to talk discuss if and when she saw Santana again.

A faint throbbing suddenly started up at the base of her skull, fighting its way across her head. Rachel could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears. It was suddenly hard for her to pay attention. The throbbing grew stronger.

Next to her, Brittany dropped her chin on to her knees. "She didn't think you would like her back," she said with a frown. "Santana was always scared that no one would want her."

Rachel would have been slightly surprised by Brittany's statement if she hadn't spent so much time around Santana during the last couple of years. It was fairly obvious to anyone that paid attention that Santana was insecure and that she often took it out on the people around her. It was easy for Rachel to recognize her fear and her pain, mostly because she held on to her own so closely sometimes. She understood Santana's fear.

Rachel thought of Shelby, of always wondering what it would be like to have a mother. She thought of eventually _having_ a mother, one who went to great lengths to reconnect with her only to toss her aside at the last possible moment. Her heart ached, but the throbbing in her head quieted. It was a mixed blessing.

"I told her to call you," Brittany muttered. "I told her to tell you how she felt."

"I-" she paused. Rachel had only spoken of that night once - to the police - and she had been hysterical for most of it. She took a deep breathe and then swallowed thickly. "Santana did call me," she finally said.

Brittany turned her head, her cheek resting on the back of the hand on her knee. She didn't say anything, waiting for Rachel to decide whether or not she was going to continue. Brittany knew of this, they all did; they knew that Rachel had gotten a call and ended up in the alley where Santana was. Rachel, of course, knew that everyone had found out what had happened, but she had never been the one to tell them.

"She asked me to meet her," Rachel continued. "She didn't say why, but she sounded upset. When I got to the park bench where she asked me to go, she wasn't there." Rachel had to stop as tears stung the backs of her eyelids. She closed her eyes, willing the tears to go away and to take the pain in her head and heart with them.

"I thought she had decided to play a trick on me, to humiliate me somehow. And then I heard a scream. By the time I -" she stopped again. It was too fresh, that night. It was lying there right beneath the surface, taunting her with images of blood and death. It was too fresh and too raw and her eyes ached and there were voices in her head again, reaching through to her conscious through the din.

And this time, she knew them.

* * *

 _There's a loud little girl with a fondness for cute animal sweaters and plaid skirts that she paired with tights or knee-high socks. She's calling out after her best friend, who wears simple jeans and tops and is the only person she knows who is as loud as she is. Her best friend is yelling at the other kids in Spanish and daring anyone to mistreat either of them._

 _They wear matching headbands that the girl in plaid picks out and they weave flowers into their hair because the other girl thinks it's pretty. They sit on top of the jungle gym together because the girl with the animal sweaters is small for her age and it's the only time she's up higher than anyone; the girl in jeans just likes being able to tower over everyone and assert her power. They make up games together and pretend like they're both princesses who rule the peasants. They have sleepovers where they eat too much junk food and stay up late, giggling under the blankets on the bed of whoever's house they're staying at this time. They walk around holding hands like it's the most natural thing in the world. And to them, it is._

 _The girl in tights gets hair clips from her dads for her birthday and they're her favorite gift. During recess, a boy makes fun of her, taunting her clothes and her new clips. Her best friend isn't outside with her, having been held up to get a firm talking-to from their teacher. She pouts and it just makes him angrier. He pushes her and she falls back into the mud, crying._

 _She hears her best friend – her best friend, Santana – yelling at the boy as she runs over, knocking him down and cursing at him. She pulls Rachel up out of the mud and brushes her hair out of her face, telling her that everything is okay now. And Rachel just cries some more because her clothes are ruined and her new hair clips have fallen out._

 _The other girl takes her inside and helps her get cleaned up, whispering to her sweetly in both English and Spanish. Afterwards, Santana hugs her, wraps her arms around her tightly and tells her that she'll always be there to take care of her. When they go back outside, she gives Rachel the headband she's wearing and they weave Santana a replacement one out of flowers._

 _After school, the friends go to the park. They run through the trees together, laughing. Santana has on sneakers and is able to navigate the brush better than she can. "Come back!" Rachel yells. "Come get me!" she receives in answer, the other girl's voice tinted by the hint of an accent that comes from rarely speaking English at home. "You can't," another voice says, hissing in her ear as she stumbles and falls._

* * *

"Rachel?" she heard, feeling a hand take hers. "It's okay. You don't have to keep going."

It was Brittany, sitting with her underneath the piano in the choir room, holding her hand. Rachel shook her head, trying to find her bearings again.

The door to the room opened and feet shuffled in front of them. "Brittany? Rachel?" someone called out.

Rachel exhaled heavily. Her brain was still buzzing and she felt slightly faint. She wanted to cry again. How had she forgotten?

"We're under here," Brittany said, nudging Rachel over. There was little room but Rachel slid anyway, trying to come back into herself.

Quinn's face came into focus as she bent over to stare at Brittany and Rachel, huddled together and holding hands. "You're supposed to sit _at_ pianos, not under them," she smirked, raising an eyebrow at them.

Brittany grabbed Quinn's arm, tugging at it until she almost fell. "Come sit with us," Brittany pleaded. "Please?"

Rachel, meanwhile, massaged her temple with her free hand. She was sure that she could feel ever single red blood cell circulating through her veins and arteries and every synapse firing at once. The sound of children playing bounced around the inside of her skull. The voices, the sounds she had been hearing, were clearer now: they were kids playing on playgrounds at school and at the park.

When Rachel looked over, Quinn had already settled down on Brittany's other side. "We shouldn't stay for long," she said. "I have a test in my next class."

"Brittany, when did Santana move to Lima?" Rachel asked, cutting off Quinn, who looked like she was about to say something else.

Both Quinn and Brittany looked at her curiously. "She's always lived in Lima. She was born here," she said, her brows furrowing. "Why?"

"I was just wondering," she responded quickly, turning away from their curious gazes.

Nothing was making sense anymore. Rachel's family had moved to Lima from Cleveland when she was ten, when everyone she knew now was just starting middle school. She very clearly remembered being made fun of by everyone, including Santana, for not just being the new girl with poor fashion sense, but also for having two dads.

But it was so clear in her head: holding hands with Santana while they ran across the playground to claim the jungle gym, making up stories with her when they lay in bed together. People made fun of her for the clothes she wore and for not having a mom and Santana stood up for her and told her that she wished she had _one_ dad who was great as Rachel's two were; Santana had trouble with her English homework sometimes, or would feel self-conscious about the way she spoke, and Rachel helped her with her work and told her that she thought Santana spoke just fine.

It was so clear to her and she wondered where these memories had been buried.

"Are you really sure you're okay?" Quinn asked.

* * *

 _Rachel just can't stop giggling. They're sitting under a tree together, the same tree they always sit under, and Santana is eating an orange. She picks out the seeds and throws them at Rachel, making a game of how many she can hit the girl with and where. Rachel huffs but then Santana grins at her, showing off her dimples, and it's impossible for her to stay mad._

 _It's early and the leaves are just starting to change. They trade jackets so that each girl will always have something that belongs to the other one, and Santana puts her own knit hat on Rachel's head and tells her to keep it. A leaf flutters to the ground between them and Santana crushes it between her fingers._

 _Rachel is singing as she leans against Santana. She's not singing to practice or prepare for anything; she's just singing to sing and because Santana is the only person who would never tell her to be quiet. After a few minutes, Santana asks if Rachel will teach her the song that she won't stop singing._

 _Rachel is about halfway through trying to explain to Santana the proper breathing techniques that her vocal instructor makes her use when Santana leans over and kisses her. She puckers her lips and then presses them against Rachel's like it's supposed to mean something, and to Rachel, it does. Santana tastes like oranges and like the universe and Rachel sees gold stars behind her eyelids._

 _They giggle at each other when they pull apart, looking away from each other shyly. Rachel fixes Santana's hat that's sitting atop her own head and steals the rest of the orange Santana is holding. They spend the rest of the afternoon under their tree singing songs together._

* * *

"Rachel!" Quinn yelled.

"What?" she said, trying to push down the rush of memories suddenly set ablaze across her consciousness. She was breathing heavily, she realized, and gripping Brittany's hand tightly. She let go of Brittany's hand, dropping it and adjusting her skirt. Her head was still buzzing and the sound of children playing had morphed into just the sound of her and Santana playing. "I'm fine."

"Really?" Quinn wondered, clearly exasperated. "You're really going to keep sitting there telling me that you're okay?"

Rachel nodded firmly, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Yes, Quinn. You may not believe it, but I can assure you that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me."

Quinn shook her head, glancing down at Brittany's hands; the tall blonde was picking her fingernails and frowning. "Brittany?" Quinn asked, waiting until Brittany turned to look at her to reach out and take her hands, pulling them apart to stop her from picking her nails off. "What did you do last night?"

Brittany's frown deepened. "What do you mean? I was with you, Quinn."

Quinn smiled at her. "Yeah, but I think you should tell Rachel what you did last night."

Brittany nodded, shrugging her shoulders. "Okay," she said. "Well, I was at home," she told Rachel, "and then Quinn called. So I went over to her house and we hung out. We spent all night watching Disney movies and cheesy romantic comedies."

"That sounds lovely, Brittany," Rachel said. "But I fail to see how this is relevant to me."

"What were you doing when I called you, Brittany?" Quinn asked, purposefully not responding to Rachel.

"I was looking at pictures," Brittany answered. "My mom made me put all my pictures of Santana and me into a box because it hurt too much to see them on my walls everyday. But I decided to look at them yesterday when I got home from school."

"And what would you have done if I hadn't called?" Quinn prompted.

"I probably would have just sat there on the floor crying and looking at pictures all night," Brittany said. She pulled Quinn into a hug suddenly. "Thanks for helping me take my mind off things, Q," she smiled, swaying for a moment with Quinn in her arms.

"Again, this is all very sweet, but I don't see what this has to do with me," Rachel interrupted, trying to resist the urge to bury her head in her hands and press on her temples until she stopped hearing things.

"What I'm trying to get at here," Quinn said, rolling her eyes a little bit at the brunette, "is that sometimes we need help. Sometimes, we can't do it on our own. We think we can, but then we end up spending hours crying while we look at old pictures. If there's one thing that being pregnant taught me," Quinn told her firmly, "it's that there's nothing wrong with accepting help from people offering it."

Rachel sighed, sliding out from underneath the piano quickly and rising to her feet. She swept the dust off of her skirt and looked down at Quinn and Brittany still holding each other. "I don't need your help," she said.

Quinn stood up, too, pulling Brittany out with her. "No?" she asked, skeptically.

"Absolutely not," Rachel affirmed. "Like I said, I'm fine."

"Then sing a song," Quinn smirked. "Sing during glee club today. And not just whatever Schue throws at us for Sectionals, but your own song, of your own choosing."

Rachel scoffed, crossing her arms. "When and where I choose to sing is really none of your business. You can't dictate the expression of my emotions, Quinn."

"Still haven't found that song, then, huh?"

Rachel stopped then, dropping her arms to her sides and closing her eyes. She could still hear them in her mind, a young her and a young Santana, laughing and playing games together. "You can't help me, Quinn," she said, and it was the truth. Quinn and Brittany, as well-intentioned as they were, could do nothing for current-day Rachel and Santana.

"We could if you let us," she heard Brittany say.

"You can't," she said aloud, turning away and inhaling deeply. _"You can't,"_ she heard in her head, in a voice that wasn't hers. She left Quinn and Brittany then, walking out of the choir room with those same two words bouncing off the inner walls of her skull, mixing with the sounds of a nine-year-old Rachel and an eight-year-old Santana trying to bake cookies on a warm Sunday afternoon.

And then the words shift inside her mind and are replaced by the sounds of a ten-year-old Rachel losing her best friend.

* * *

 _Rachel is ten, just a few months older than Santana, and they're walking through their neighborhood together, holding hands. Santana is telling her all about her new baby brother, about his pretty brown eyes and his cute little smile, the way his nose scrunches and he plays with his food. Rachel swings their hands between them, humming. It's late, past their bedtimes, but they've snuck out in order see each other. It's summer and with Santana helping to take care of her brother, they haven't been able to spend all their waking moments together._

 _It's dark and Santana's holding a flashlight. The streetlights are on, but the presence of their own light makes them feel better. They make a right turn, heading towards the park._

 _The light above them darkens suddenly, cutting off, and it makes Rachel jump. She holds Santana's hand tighter and moves a little closer to her. Santana could have teased her for being scared, but she doesn't - she just squeezes Rachel's hand and smiles at her._

 _When they reach their tree, they stop. There's a man sitting there, right in their spot. His legs are crossed at the ankles and he's twiddling his thumbs. He rises slowly, his head bowed and his face hidden by the hat he wears._

 _Rachel tugs on Santana's hand, trying to pull on her. She knows that this is a bad idea, standing here in front of this stranger; she knows that sneaking out of the house is a bad idea, too, and the stranger does nothing to prove her wrong. She decides to yell at Santana later, because Santana was always getting them into trouble._

 _Santana doesn't move, though, and Rachel can't get her to budge. She prays that the man hasn't seen them, but just as she does, he looks up at them. His eyes are piercing. They're every color all at once and they make Rachel think of the universe the way her teachers explain it - it's all stars and planets and galaxies and whole other worlds out there._

" _Santana," she hisses, desperate to leave now before something happens._

 _The man with the universe eyes is right there in front of them, though, before either of them even move. "I've been waiting for you," he says._

 _Rachel's crying before she even knows what's going to happen, because he's grinning as he grabs Santana's arm and it terrifies her. And Santana isn't even moving, isn't even reacting to him; she's just staring at him as he pulls her up into her arms, her eyes wide and her jaw hanging slack._

 _Rachel yells at him, begs him to let Santana go; she promises that she'll get her daddies and she'll call the police. She beats at his legs, but he just laughs at her. His voice is full and thunderous as he laughs at her and lets her hit him. Santana does nothing._

 _He reaches down towards Rachel, then, and brushes his fingers through her hair. "You'll never save her," he says. "You can't."_

 _And Rachel collapses._

 _When she wakes up, she's in the family car with her dads, en route to their new home in Lima. Her head hurts and she squints in the bright sunlight hitting her face. She has the nagging feeling that she's forgotten something, but when she asks her dad if they can go back, he tells her that they've already gone too far to turn back now._


	8. Along Sympathetic Threads

" _Ye live not for yourselves; ye cannot live for yourselves ; a thousand fibres connect you with your fellow-men, and along those fibres, as along sympathetic threads, run your actions as causes, and return to you as effects."  
_ _Reverend Henry Melvill_

Rachel wasn't sure what to do with herself for the rest of the day. She was distracted and it showed; she was pretty sure she took a quiz at some point, but she couldn't be certain. When Quinn, who was in most of her courses, tried to talk to her afterwards, she shrugged the other girl off. Rachel spent most of her class time finding buried memories of her and Santana as children.

Glee came and went and it was all Rachel could do to remember to sit upright as Mister Schuester wrote single-word life lessons on the board. As he wrote "perseverance" in large black letters and went on to explain himself, all Rachel could hear was a nine-year-old Santana saying that she hated boys and wanted to just be with her best friend forever.

"Rachel?"

Blinking rapidly, Rachel was aware of eyes on her. Everyone in the choir room was looking at her expectantly. "Yes?"

"Did you have any ideas for Sectionals?" Mister Schuester asked.

Rachel glanced at the board behind him, seeing a list of songs that other had presumably suggested. She stared at it blankly for a moment and swallowed thickly. She always had ideas; she had whole files marked with potential songs meant to fulfill certain lessons she expected Mister Schuester to bring up at some point. As it was, Rachel could recall none of them. "No," she said simply.

She saw a look of worry pass across the glee club teacher's face. There was movement within her periphery and when she looked over, Quinn was shaking her head and turning to share a look with Brittany.

"Are you sure?" the teacher asked.

He was trying so hard to pull something out of her, but Rachel knew he was only going to be met with disappointment when he realized that there was nothing inside her to grasp. She nodded at him and with a sigh, he opened the floor back up to everyone else.

"Sectionals are important, you guys," he said. "We want to win Nationals this year, not just for us, but for Santana, too. And this?" Mister Schuester leveled a pointed look at Rachel. "This is the first step towards getting us there."

If she were a lesser person, Rachel would have rolled her eyes at the man in front of them. They all knew how important Sectionals were, Rachel included. She had promised a heartbroken Brittany that New Directions would win Nationals, and she fully intended on keeping that promise. And not just for Brittany, but for all of them. They all needed this.

In her head, she and Santana were babbling about Valentine's Day cards and candies, decorating little brown paper sacks with their names on them in glitter. Santana drew a heart on Rachel's bag and put a smiley face inside it.

And then a thought struck Rachel. Maybe she could do even better than winning Nationals in Santana's honor. Maybe she could bring Santana back to them. Stranger things had happened, after all. So why not this? she wondered.

The man with the universe and all its secrets written across his face and in his eyes said that she couldn't, that she could _never_. But Rachel Berry was never one to stay firmly within the bounds of what others said she could do.

She had two childhoods in her head and she figured that if that could happen, if dead people could suddenly be alive and she could chase moonlight in nightmares down the sidewalk and hear voices of another her with another life, then anything could very well happen.

Rachel remembered a life and a childhood with Santana and she remembered a life and childhood without her. She knew which one she wanted.

* * *

 _Rachel is six and she has on her favorite skirt. She stands alone on the playground at recess watching the other kids play together in groups. A boy runs past her as she tries to decide whether or not anyone would play with her. He hits her shoulder as he passes and she yells at him. He retaliates by pushing her down. She scrapes her knee as she lands awkwardly, dust sticking to her skirt. Dirt clings to the wound and it sting. She cries and no one cares._

 _She's eight and she sits under the big tree near her house after school every day. She eats oranges and tries to smooth down her hair as an autumn wind blows. The leaves swirl around her, falling across her legs and getting caught in her hair. Eventually, hers dads tell her they have to leave and she stands up awkwardly, dropping the seeds she held on to the ground._

 _She's nine and she tells her fathers that she doesn't want a birthday party. No one would come._

 _She's ten and she makes straight 'A's. She performs better than anyone else in her lessons and her instructors rain praise down on her for her talent and her determination. She sits in the park and sings alone, glad that at least she has her voice; at least she has music. It makes her feel almost as good as what she imagines having friends must feel like._

* * *

Rachel felt eyes on her again and she remembered that she was forgetting to pay attention. When she glanced around, no one seemed to be paying her much mind. No one was looking at her at all actually, but she couldn't escape the inexplicable feeling of someone keeping an eye on her like they expected her to do something.

Rachel shook her head, trying to clear it. She needed to see Santana and she needed to see her soon. Rachel just had to get back to the cemetery as soon as possible and talk to the other girl. There were so many things that she needed to know, needed to ask.

Could Santana remember her the way she could remember Santana? Could she remember _them_ just as clearly as Rachel could? Was her heart suddenly aching in her chest and a lump building up in her throat when she thought of long childhood years spent kissing underneath falling leaves and whispering promises about forever? Because Rachel was hurting and she needed to know if Santana remembered.

There was a faint wetness across her left cheek and she reached her hand up, finding a tear streaked down her face. Students around her began to stand up and she joined them. Glee club was officially over for the day and Rachel left quickly, wiping her face and hoping she could make it outside before anyone stopped her.

* * *

True to their word, Rachel's fathers put together a schedule that would allow them to keep an eye on her. It made her feel like a child instead of a seventeen-year-old. She protested their attempts to coddle her, but ultimately had little say in the matter.

Leroy kept the radio low as he drove Rachel home after glee club rehearsal. The music was a low hum as it filled the car. Inside her head, Leroy was supervising a six-year-old Rachel and five-year-old Santana as they try to cut out perfect stars in golden construction paper and stick them on Rachel's walls.

"Daddy?" she started. "I'm sure you remember when we lived in Cleveland?"

He smiled. "Of course I do, sweetheart. Why do you ask?"

Rachel bit her lip and glanced out the window. The day was grey and cloudy. A light breeze blew up the leaves collected on sidewalks and lawns. "Did I ever have any friends?" she asked eventually, knowing already what his answer was going to be.

Leroy sighed. "You know that you were never very close with any other kids," he said gently. "But that wasn't your fault, it was theirs."

Once, she would have nodded with him. But now it felt like a lie, something insidious that creeped over her conscious mind and tried to settle in her thoughts and she almost did nod. It sounded right, what he said. It sounded true and familiar, but somewhere in the places she was finding inside herself, it felt utterly wrong.

She was almost overcome with a need to yell at him suddenly, scream that he was lying, that they all were. "There was a tree, wasn't there? In the park, near our house?" Rachel asked instead.

"Yes, an oak, I think it was," Leroy answered. "You liked to sit underneath it and eat lunch."

"Oranges," she supplied, more to herself than to him.

"Oh, god, those oranges," he chuckled to himself. "You made us put an orange in every single lunch we took to the park and you would only eat it under that big old tree."

Rachel nodded. She could recall what he was telling her, could remember things as he explained them. But her thoughts were slippery and faded away into other memories. She heard herself as a little girl, encouraging Santana to carve their initials into _their_ tree.

No one else had _these_ memories, though. No one else could remember what she could. They all had different lives for her and Santana. Suddenly everything that Rachel was sure that she knew about herself felt like a lie. She said nothing else and the rest of the drive was spent in silence.

* * *

She spent the afternoon in bed, her thoughts a mess of thoughts and memories that she didn't know what to do with. Rachel drifted in and out of consciousness, her eyes snapping open every time she was about to doze off. It tired her more, to rest yet not sleep, but it was more of a respite than Rachel had gotten the previous night, leaning against her bedroom door waiting for the sight of a young and very dead her to catch up to her from the cemetery.

So Rachel rested, watching the sun slowly set outside her window. It slipped past the edge of her windowsill eventually, bathing the room in a soft orange glow. When night fell, she was off.

Rachel decided to skip crawling down the tree outside her window. She hadn't gotten caught sneaking into her home through the front door, and she knew her house well enough to know every loose floorboard and squeaking hinge. Rachel didn't know why she had insisted in climbing down the tree in the first place. Her arms and legs were littered with scrapes and bruises and the door seemed like a much less hazardous option.

Outside, the night was cool. Condensation collected atop the grass and the sidewalk and leaves stuck to the ground. Rachel tightened her coat around her body and walked toward the cemetery quickly. The wind caught her hair, swirling it across her vision, and sunlight and warmth felt like distant memories. All she felt was the fall cold, seeping through her coat and her skin until it chilled her to the bone.

Rachel hesitated at the gate to the cemetery. Her hand was on the latch and as she went to raise it, she stopped for a moment. Her heart beat frantically in her chest and she took several deep breathes, letting the oxygen flood her lungs with each inhale.

"You coming in or what?"

Rachel jumped back, her eyes widening. Santana stood before her, smirking a bit at her reaction. The taller brunette's hand wrested atop the metal pole on the little gate and she absentmindedly brushed her fingers over it.

"Yes," she stuttered, her hand shaking a bit as she gripped the catch on the gate and pushed it open. Rachel blamed the cold for her inability to still and ignored the sinking pit of fearful anticipation building up in her stomach as she stepped into the cemetery.

Rachel had an electric lantern this time, an old camping one she found in the garage before she left. It gave off more of a glow than the flashlight and Rachel held it up, watching it bathe her surroundings with light. There was nothing around her but Santana and death, but it was okay because the death wasn't her. Not this time anyway.

Santana's brows furrowed. "You okay?" she asked. "You look like you're waiting for like, zombies or something."

"I just might be," Rachel muttered.

The other girl shot her a look as they walked further into the cemetery. "I might be dead, but I'm not going to kill you," she said.

The leaves underneath her feet didn't crunch like they usually did. They were soggy and slick and her shoes slid across them more than once. "Where did you go last night?"

Santana shrugged. "I don't know exactly. I blinked and then...well, I opened my eyes and it was morning and you were gone," she answered. "I usually just kind of remember stuff, like have dreams, I guess?" she said, her answer more of a question than anything else. They reached her grave and she eyed it warily. "I'm getting sick of looking at my own fucking name."

Rachel stared at the tombstone as they stood in front of it. _Santana_ _Marisol_ _Lopez_. She heard an eight-year-old Santana in her mind, explaining that "Marisol" was made up of the Spanish words for _sea_ and _sun_. "You were named after your grandmother," Rachel whispered to herself.

"Yeah," Santana nodded. "How did you know that?"

"Santana," she started. The wind blew, rushing past her ears. "I need to speak with you. I don't quite know how to say this. I'm not entirely sure how to start, but it is rather urgent and if you would answer me truthfully before you dismiss me entirely, I would really appreciate it."

The taller girl rolled her eyes. "Shit, Rachel, I don't know if I can age, but I really don't want to find out. So just say whatever you need to say," she sighed.

"We were friends," Rachel said quickly. She licked her lips and carried on because she needed to know. She needed to know if it was more than a dream. "When we were little girls, we were best friends. I helped you with your homework and you protected me from bullies. We held hands and had sleepovers and baked cookies. We had matching headbands," she finished, an uncomfortable weight settling in her chest while her heart waited.

"What are you talking about?" Santana demanded, crossing her arms. "You didn't even live here when we were kids."

And her heart cracked, splintering off into pieces that fell and stabbed into her other organs. "No," Rachel said. "And neither did you."

"Um, yeah, I did," Santana responded like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The smaller girl shook her head. "No, Santana, think about it," she pleaded. "Please. Really think about it. I need you to remember."

At that moment Santana hesitated, her arms dropping to her sides, and it was all Rachel needed. She had cycled through various stages of probable craziness and she needed a great many things, but nothing felt as urgent and important as _this_. The world was pressing down around them, two teenagers standing in a cold and dark cemetery together, and _this_ was what Rachel needed more than anything. She needed to know that Santana remembered them the way that she did.

"I can't remember things that didn't happen, Berry," Santana whispered, ducking her head as she shrugged. She didn't meet Rachel's gaze.

The smaller girl reached out, gripping her arm. "No, Santana, you have to remember," she said. Her voice cracked. "You just - you have to. Just remember."

Santana's eyes slipped shut as she looked away. Her eyes closed, but she didn't go anywhere; she just stood in front of Rachel shaking her head. "You kissed me," Rachel whispered softly, running her hand up Santana's arm and bringing it to her cheek. Rachel let the coldness of Santana's skin nip at her fingers as she ran them over the taller girl's cheekbones. "When we were nine, you kissed me like it meant something."

The wind howled around them, picking up the edges of the wet leaves on the ground and making them flutter. Rachel glanced around before looking back up at Santana; everything was picking up around them and she desperately wanted to void a repeat of the previous night. "Please open your eyes," she said. "I don't want you to disappear again."

Santana took in a shaky breathe and when she opened her eyes, they were watery. Wetness clung to her eyelashes. She was crying, real tears edging out of her eyes this time instead of whatever dry sadness she had been displaying before. "It did mean something," she cried quietly.

Rachel wiped some of her tears away gently, biting her lip as she felt herself start to cry, too. Relief flooded her for the first time in what was probably weeks. Santana remembered and Rachel decided that it was enough, that if the world was ending, if that's what this whole mad nightmare was – just the world ending – then she would take it if Santana just remembered her.

"I just - I can't," Santana sputtered, sobbing. "Fuck, I didn't know - I didn't." The taller girl closed her eyes again, squeezing them shut to stem her tears. "There was a man," she gasped. "And I didn't - I didn't _know._ "

"It's okay," Rachel said immediately, watching Santana's face contort in pain. "It's okay," she said again, dropping the lantern to hold Santana's face between her hands. "Look at me," Rachel whispered.

When Santana opened her eyes finally, they were dark and deep. "He killed me," she gasped out, grabbing Rachel's arms and letting the other girl caress her cheeks with her thumbs. "He killed me twice."

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Rachel's and they cried together. Tears coated her cheeks and Rachel shivered as Santana's gasps hit her face in bursts of cold air. "It's okay," she said to both of them. "We can fix this."

" _You won't."_

She tightened her grip on Santana and kept her in place. When Santana's sobs died off and her tears eventually dried and she tried to pull away, Rachel kept her there and didn't let go. Santana stopped struggling and so they stayed like that.

Santana wrapped her fingers around Rachel's wrists, holding them tightly. "It did mean something," she murmured, "when I kissed you. And that night when I called you - I," she paused, biting her lip. "It meant something, okay?"

Rachel nodded, her forehead rubbing against the other girl's. She leaned up and pressed a kiss to the corner of Santana's mouth because she needed it; they both did. "I'm going to bring you back," she whispered out into the night air. _"_ _It_ _'_ _s i_ _mpossible,_ _"_ her mind said. "I promise."


	9. Feed One Another

" _It is told that Buddha, going out to look on life, was greatly daunted by death. 'They all eat one another!' he cried, and called it evil. This process I examined, changed the verb, said, 'They all feed one another,' and called it good."  
_ _Charlotte Perkins Gilman_

Eventually, Rachel had to let Santana go. Years of practicing proper etiquette told her that the appropriate amount of time for a hug had long since expired. Not to mention, Santana had stopper crying and had renewed her efforts to get away from Rachel.

"Bring dead fucking sucks," she said, swiping her hand over her face. Wetness coated her hand and she glared at it. "It's like God or whoever-the-fuck couldn't decide to make me alive or dead so he just made me _this_. Wish he'd just pick one already."

Rachel bent over to retrieve the lantern she had dropped before she stood up straight again. Wet dirt and leaves stuck to it and she picked them off, grimacing. "The former would definitely be more preferable than the latter," she said. "Especially considering..."

"Considering what?" the other girl asked, crossing her arms and turning her glare towards the damp grass and leaves beneath their feet.

"You were already taken away from me once," Rachel started. "Well, twice technically. I would like it if you came back this time," she admitted, "as a friend."

Santana regarded her for a moment, looking up at her through thick lashes. "Why do I feel like he'll just kill me again?" she muttered, her voice shaking.

"Is that what he did before?" Rachel wondered. "When we were children? He took you away, I remember that."

Santana nodded. "Uh, yeah," she said. "He - fuck," she groaned. She kicked her foot across the ground, the toe of her black flat digging up mud that stuck to it. Her face contorted again and she closed her eyes tightly. "It's so fucking stupid."

Rachel didn't know how far stress and the situation allowed her to go with Santana, but she figured that if she could get away with a long hug, then she already had more leeway than she normally would have had. She carefully reached out to take Santana's hand. The other girl didn't pull away, and Rachel thought that she might as well have all the leeway in the world. "It will be okay, Santana," she said.

Santana's hand hung limp in her grip, but she didn't pull away. "You keep saying that like it's true," she responded.

"It _is_ true," Rachel told her. "I made a promise."

Santana shook her head. "We're fucked," she said.

Rachel took a deep breath, squeezing the other girl's hand. "We just have to be patient while we figure this out."

"Okay, well you keep being patient and getting to be alive," Santana shot back, raising her head up to stare at her. "And I'll just keep sitting in this stupid freaking graveyard waiting to die _again_."

"You came back once," Rachel reasoned. "And you're back now, in some sense of the word."

Santana pulled away from her. "Yeah, until that guy shows up again," she said. "And then what?"

Rachel took a step towards her. She could see Santana's face hardening, could watch the anger and frustration travel through her features and settle there. "I don't know yet," she answered honestly.

Santana was silent for a moment, her brows furrowed. "I don't want to die again," she muttered.

Rachel's fingers trailed down the other girl's arm, playing lightly at her inner wrist. Santana's arm shuddered in response. "How did it happen the first time?"

"He drowned me," Santana said, her face falling just as quickly as it had hardened. "He carried me all the way to the lake and held my head under the water."

Tears stung Rachel's eyes and she let her fingers dance down across Santana's wrist, trailing down her palm and lacing their fingers together. She let herself hope for a moment that maybe if she held Santana there, she couldn't be taken away. It was naive, she knew, but it was all she had to hold on to besides the dead girl in front of her.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't be there for you that time," she said.

Santana glanced away from her and gave her hand a squeeze. "Just don't do it again," she responded quietly.

Rachel smiled at her gently. "Do you remember when we used to have sleepovers at your house and your mom would get mad at us for making too much noise at night?"

Santana wiped her eyes with her free hand and the corners of her lips turned upwards. Se let out a strangled laugh. "Yeah," she said. "She always promised that _this_ was going to be the last time you got to stay over."

"But it never was," Rachel supplied. "I was right back over there the very next weekend."

"We drove my mom crazy," Santana said, her smile widening.

Rachel said nothing at first, content to stand in front of the other girl, their hands clasped between them. She let her thumb run over the back of Santana's hand, caressing the skin there. There was hope there between them, hope and memories, and Rachel breathed them in like oxygen.

"Just to clarify, I'm not going anywhere," she eventually said.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I got that," she said, staring at their hands. "So what now?

Rachel shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"You make a lot of promises for a girl without a plan," Santana responded, looking up at her.

"If I could make a powerpoint presentation and detailed outlines, then I would," Rachel started. "However, I presently find myself without the proper introductory -"

"So when did this start?" Santana interrupted. Rachel raised her eyebrows in confusion. " _This_ ," Santana said, gesturing towards the other girl. "This whole 'blahblah I have six million plans for everything in my life' shit."

"Oh, um," she stuttered. "I've always been like this."

"Not with me."

Rachel swallowed thickly and a wind blew. "I suppose that it was a development in your absence," she said. "To be fair, though, you haven't always been _this_ person, the scheming vindictive girl who sleeps around."

"So between us we have organization and sluttiness," Santana mused, biting her lip. "We're fucked," she repeated.

Santana's hand was clammy in her own and Rachel's thumb drifted again towards the sensitive skin at her inner wrist. She remembered spending nights huddled together under her comforter after watching a scary movie, when Rachel would be frightened and Santana would take her hand. She would play with her fingers and caress her palm and her wrist until Rachel was calm enough to sleep.

"Between us, we have a connection," Rachel said.

Santana's hand twitched and she jerked away, looking at Rachel sheepishly. "Sorry. That tickles," she muttered.

Rachel nodded absentmindedly as she held on to her lantern. She immediately missed the warmth that Santana had given her and she buried her now-free hand in her pocket.

She wasn't used to such heat from the other girl. Santana's palm had been sweaty, but it wasn't uncomfortable in the harsh cold wind of the October night. Rachel felt unbearably cold, like crushed ice was flowing through her blood vessels. She resisted the urge to move closer to Santana just for her warm presence.

She paused then, her eyes widening as she realized the implications of what she was thinking. "Wait, Santana, you felt that?" she asked suddenly and quickly, gripping the other girls forearm.

"Yeah, I - I guess I did," Santana said, her brows furrowing as she stared at Rachel's hand on her arm in surprise. She flipped her arm over, her palm facing the sky. "Do it again."

Rachel's hand found Santana's elbow as she stepped closer to the taller brunette in excitement. Her heart beat furiously in her chest and she dropped the lantern again. They were standing close together and Rachel looked up at Santana, smiling. Their foreheads were almost touching and Rachel had to force her hands to steady as Santana looked at her with wide brown eyes. She brought her other hand to Santana's arm, running the tip of her index finger from her elbow to her wrist slowly and gently. Santana's arm shuddered and Rachel reversed her path, dragging her fingernails back up towards Santana's elbow until her arm twisted away.

"I felt it," Santana cried. Rachel's hand hovered over the space where her arm had been and she raised it back towards the other girl. "I can actually feel it."

"You're warm," Rachel whispered, gazing up at the other girl. A soft smile settled on her face. Perhaps things were beginning to right themselves.

A gust of autumn wind blew past them and Rachel shivered, shifting closer to Santana before she had the presence of mind to stop herself. "Sorry," she said quietly, still gripping Santana's elbow.

Santana shook her head. "No, it's okay," she replied, meeting Rachel's eyes. Her gaze was soft, soft in a way that Rachel wasn't used to seeing from the girl before her. Well, not in many years at least. "It's nice to feel something."

Rachel nodded. If there were words to be spoken, she couldn't find them, couldn't seem to grasp much outside of the look on Santana's face and in her eyes. "Would you like me to do it again?" she asked eventually.

"No," Santana said immediately, her breathe warm across Rachel's cheeks as her voice echoed around them loudly. "I mean," she started again, lowering her voice, "just - just stay here for a second, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel said quietly. They were so close now that all she could see were Santana's eyes, shining with more unshed tears. Her own eyes slipped shut as one of them moved, bringing their foreheads together.

Rachel shivered again, her teeth chattering for a moment. But she didn't move and they stayed like that for several long moments, Rachel's fingers splayed across Santana's forearm and her body pressed the other girl's. She didn't know exactly when they had gotten _that_ close, but there was no way that she was moving.

It was only when they seemed to realize that the sky was starting to grow lighter that Santana moved away from her. The world went from black to a faded grey quickly as they separated and Rachel was immediately colder than she had been all night.

"I should get home," she said, picking up the lantern again. She turned it off, its light no longer needed. "My fathers have been a bit overzealous in their attempts to look after me."

"Shit, Rachel, I can't even blame them," Santana admitted, tilting her head. She seemed to notice how cold it was, or perhaps it was the first time the cold affected her. She ran her hands up her arms. "It's only October. Why is it so cold?"

Rachel bit her lip, eyeing Santana worriedly. Taking a step back, she finally got a good look at the other girl. Santana was still pale, an almost ashy kind of white-grey that made Rachel's stomach twist uncomfortably. But there was something different about her now, something beyond the fact that she could suddenly feel and cry and radiate warmth. Rachel was caught by the familiar feeling that there were things just out of her reach, nefarious things lurking in the shadows waiting to snatch them away.

She shrugged off her coat, handing it to Santana. "You put this on," she instructed. "I'll try to bring you something warmer when I can make it back."

Rachel felt the cold immediately, biting at her uncovered arms and hands. If there had been slush in her veins before, it was hardening and freezing her blood now.

Santana thrust the jacket back at her. "No way," she protested. "I'm already dead. A little cold isn't going to hurt me."

Rachel backed away from her, moving towards the cemetery gate quickly before the other girl could give her the coat back. "Keep it," she said firmly. "I have several more at home."

Santana ran after her. "Wait," she cried, catching up with Rachel just before she managed to slip through the gate.

Rachel held up her hand. "Santana, I insist. I fully intend on going home immediately and procuring another -"

Santana rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms around Rachel, interrupting her. She pulled the smaller girl against her fully, her cheek resting against the side of Rachel's head. "Thanks," she muttered into Rachel's hair.

Rachel merely smiled, letting Santana's warmth wrap around her. As they pulled apart and she hurried home through the cold, she thought she felt lingering heat clinging to her skin, sticking to her fingertips and her forehead and her heart.

She climbed into bed as soon as she reached her room, setting her alarm clock. She decided to skip her typical morning routine, again, in the interest of at least trying to give herself enough sleep to make it through another day. It was all they had, she thought, pulling her blankets tightly around her body and tucking them up underneath herself - they had the day they were living (or not living, in Santana's case) and that was all.

Rachel's room was warm. She could feel the heat coming up from the vent next to her bed, but she was still cold. A draft blew in under the blankets, nipping at her feet. She kicked her feet up until her comforter folded over on itself and she could rest her feet on the end of the blanket. She was properly tucked in on three sides.

She shivered still. Rachel briefly pulled her blankets up over her head, but something about not being able to keep an eye on things made her nervous and uncomfortable, so she pulled them back down and let them rest under her chin.

When Rachel did manage to sleep, it was fitful and restless. She dreamt in bursts, in screams and sobs that bounced around her brain until she woke again. She dreamt of being alive and she dreamt of being dead, and in her dreams, there was no difference. In her dreams, Rachel died a thousand times and she could feel the walls of the room she was in watching her as she did so.

Infinity and Eternity and Endlessness mocked her and when her alarm went off, Rachel was grateful for the respite from her own subconscious.

* * *

Rachel spent her school day in much the same fashion she had spent her previous school day. There were no longer voices in her head, echoes of old memories drowning out the sounds around her, but she still found herself unable to focus. Exhaustion weighed her down and she caught herself drifting to sleep in a couple of her classes. The only real difference was that Rachel had to keep her coat on all day because she was so cold.

Quinn was keep an eye on her (she could feel the other girl watching her anytime she was in Rachel's vicinity) and she had to keep dodging the blonde's attempts to engage her in conversation. Quinn was persistent, and while Rachel was too tired to put up much of a fight, she was also too tired to say much when pressed.

She spotted the top of a fedora at the end of a hallway as she walked to her math class and it filled her with dread for reasons she was too sleepy to remember. When she reached the end of the corridor, there were only students there, a couple of jocks in letterman jackets hanging around some lockers. She shivered, cursing the school and its endless budget cuts for limiting the heat in the building.

In Spanish, Rachel saw Mister Schuester watching her closely, too. He didn't say anything, but Rachel could see the concerned looks he kept shooting her, taking in the circles under her eyes. She was a little pale, fatigue very obviously wearing her down. She fled as soon as the bell rang and long before Mister Schuester had a chance to say anything to her.

Rachel was sure she saw him this time, absolutely positive. She was walking to English, and there he was, leaning casually against a wall in the science hallway. She stopped short as soon as she spotted the man. Rachel felt the blood rush in her ears as she stood still in the middle of a crowded hallway full of students rushing to their next class. His arms were crossed as he bowed his head, his gaze set on the floor in front of him. Teenagers and teachers alike walked in front of him, sidestepping him but never seeming to notice him.

A figure suddenly bounded in front of her and Rachel jumped.

"Hey."

"Hello, Brittany," Rachel responded, leaning over to peer around the tall blonde. The man was gone; where he had stood there was nothing and no one.

"How's it going?" Brittany asked nonchalantly, cocking her head to the side as she looked down at Rachel.

"It's been better," Rachel said honestly.

The cheerleader, following Rachel's line of sight, turned her head and looked behind her. "Are you okay?"

Rachel shook her head, inhaling deeply. "Yes," she said, forcing her voice not to shake. She turned her attention back to Brittany, who was frowning at her. "I'm fine. How are you?"

The other girl shrugged at her. "Okay, I guess," she answered. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Nothing in particular," Rachel replied. She only just managed to stop herself from glancing over her shoulder, feeling uneasy and paranoid. "Why do you ask?"

"Do you want to sleep over at my house tonight?" Brittany asked, smiling at her slightly.

"What?" she asked, finally focusing all of her attention on the cheerleader in front of her.

"Do you want to come over and stay the night?" Brittany tried again.

The hallway had cleared out by now and the bell rang. Rachel sighed, adding tardiness to the growing list of problems she was having with her classes. "Brittany, I appreciate the offer," she said gently, "but I'm going to have to decline."

"Please?" the other girl pleaded.

Rachel shook her head. "Brittany -"

"Quinn said that I'm not supposed to take 'no' for an answer," Brittany told her. "That means you have to say 'yes.'"

Rachel frowned. "Of course Quinn is behind this."

At any other time in her life, Rachel might have welcomed such an earnest attempt at friendship and camaraderie from Quinn Fabray and Brittany Pierce. But Rachel had a shivering Santana Lopez waiting for her at the cemetery and nights were her only available time to sneak away to the graveyard. She couldn't possible stay the night at Brittany's. There was less of a successful chance that Rachel could sneak in and out of an unfamiliar house full of people.

"I don't think my dads will allow my to spend the evening at your home, Brittany," she said. It wasnt a lie; her fathers were adamant that one of them be with her when she wasn't in school.

"No," Brittany said quickly. "We asked my mom this morning and she's gonna call your dads and get them to say it's okay."

"Brittany, I don't think that's a good idea."

The other girl shook her head. "Sorry, but you can only say 'yes.' We're picking you up at seven, okay?" Brittany didn't wait for Rachel to answer before she waved and bounded off. "See you tonight."

Glancing around the empty hallway quickly, Rachel bit her lip and hoped, for once, that her fathers overprotective nature would so something good. She couldn't see her fathers allowing her to partake in Brittany and Quinn's little sleepover.

She walked to English quickly, apologizing to the teacher for being late. He gave her the same sympathetic look that everyone did and nodded at her as she took her seat. When he called for everyone to turn in an assignment and Rachel didn't have hers, he frowned at her kindly and told her that she could turn it in late with no penalty. Rachel made a note in her planner, but she wasn't entirely sure what book they were even reading.

She didn't see _him_ again for the rest of the day, even though she kept her eyes open for any sign of the man. She thought she saw someone out in the auditorium during glee club rehearsal, but when the lights came back up, there was no one.

When Rachel was picked up by Leroy, she found out that her parents worry for her didn't extend to sleepovers that they thought were a good idea. Hiram said that he thought a night among friends would be good for her. With no conceivable excuse, Rachel could only hope that Brittany's stairs didn't have any loose squeaky floorboards and that she could get her hands on a spare key. Rachel wasn't going to break the same promise to Santana twice.

With a sigh and half of a plan to sneak out of Brittany's house during the night, Rachel went up to her room to pack an overnight bag. Rachel opened her bedroom door and gasped, dropping her bookbag. She froze in the doorway, possibly even colder now than she had been all day.

The man sitting on her bed looked up, his eyes twinkling with a depth she knew little about. She got her first clear look at him that wasn't in a dream and it made her insides twist. He was neither young nor old, neither smiling nor frowning. He was somehow everything and nothing all at once. And he was sitting on her bed, his legs crossed and his hands resting in his lap.

The door eased shut behind her and Rachel leaned against it, staring at him. She suddenly felt very tired and very cold and found herself with little desire to move. Rachel finally started to understand Santana's reaction to him all those years ago.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" he asked simply.


	10. Blindman's Bluff

_Death's an early riser.  
_ _You've got to be real quick  
_ _To slip under his arm  
_ _Stretched towards you in the street._

 _His nails brushing you,  
_ _Press yourself against the wall,  
_ _Eyes wide open,  
_ _While he spins around,_

 _In his white blindfold,  
_ _Arms like a Dutch windmill,  
_ _Or like huge scissors  
_ _On the pavement already crowded  
_ _With schoolchildren.  
_ \- Charles Simic, "Blindman's Bluff"

Rachel thought of every horror movie she had ever been forced to watch. Her life felt more and like a bad scary movie every day, and she thought it was appropriate that she start comparing her life to films. She figured that right about now was the time when this man of mystery would kill off one of the protagonists. Rachel assumed that if she and Santana were the stars of this twisted tale, and Santana was already dead, that it must be her turn.

Rachel had never before wished that she could be a background player, but she was beginning to hate the spotlight. She started trying to calculate the number of steps that existed between her room and the front door and wondered if she could outrun this man.

"Miss Berry, it is quite impolite to stand mute when one has been asked a question," he said, smirking in a way that implied that he knew exactly what she was thinking (and maybe he did.)

"I asked you to explain to me what you think you're doing," he remarked, tilting his head slightly.

Rachel cleared her throat. "As you can see, I am doing nothing more than standing in my room," she answered smartly. She felt like she was playing with fire (and she probably was.)

His smirk widened. She saw no visible lines across his face, no visible signs of age, and yet he seemed so much older than she could even imagine. The skin of his cheeks and his forehead was pulled across his features tautly.

He rose from the bed slowly and a chill ran down her spine, slipping through her vertebrae and lodging in her lower back. As he stood across the room from her, staring at her intently, Rachel felt herself grow even colder than she had been all day.

She was still leaning against the door and she grasped behind her in search of the doorknob, watching him take steady steps towards her. When she finally managed to grab it, it wouldn't move at all. Rachel abandoned all pretence then and turned slightly away to tug on the doorknob, attempting to twist it in any direction. It didn't budge.

He stopped in front of her, towering over her small frame. He was tall, his body long and lean as he peered down at her. She let go of the doorknob, turning to face him again, willing her features not to betray her fear. "You think you're clever," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You think you can keep secrets and hatch plots like no one is watching you."

Rachel's arms fell limply to her sides. If this was the climax and this man had come to kill her... She wondered what fate  _she_  might have in the afterlife, if there would be anyone left alive who might bring her jackets and keep her company while she waited for something to finally take her away.

"Who are you?" she asked. She had made a promise, after all, and Rachel wasn't going easily, not without answers.

"Ah, but promises are such fickle things, aren't they?" he mused knowingly. "They are so easily broken, after all."

"I'm not breaking this one," she replied strongly. Her insides felt incredibly weak, but she put up the strongest front she could. "Who are you?" she repeated.

He chuckled and Rachel's blood ran cold through her veins. "Yes, you  _are_  quite used to pretending, aren't you? Particularly where  _she_  is concerned," he said. "Tell me this: how much did it hurt – all of the names and the taunts and the betrayals? How many tears did you shed because of  _that_  girl?"

The man stood before her casually, staring down at her with an expectant smile. "Those things don't matter anymore," Rachel answered. "Our lives could have been very different if you hadn't come into them."

"They don't matter?" he laughed. His voice was low and gravelly and his laughter accompanied a hard gurgling rattle in his chest. "Surely it matters that one of your biggest bullies used to mean so much to you."

He looked at her with mock sympathy as he shook his head. "Poor little Rachel Berry; she's even more naïve than I thought."

He uncrossed his arms, leaning down until he was at her eye level. He was so tall that he had to bend always completely at the waist just to get close to her. "What was your favorite name that she called you, hmm? Oh, better yet!" he called out, smirk firmly in place. "What was the best insult that she ever sent your way? What was your favorite way that she ever hurt you? I would love to hear that last one," he commented, rising back up to his full height.

There were a few dozen things that she could have said (Rachel wasn't short on things that Santana had said and done to her.) She sighed. "Who are you?" she settled for. "And why is it any of your business?"

His face fell, mirth quickly being replaced by anger. "I am everything," he said simply. "And I am nothing."

Rachel felt a stab of pain shoot through her left side. She cried out, bringing her palms to her ribs as she felt her muscles convulse. The man took a step away from her, glaring at her disdainfully.

"You can do nothing for her now," he warned. "It is within your best interests to stop trying."

Another wave of pain swept through her. Cold and hurt stuck to her muscles and her bones. "What do you want? Why are you doing this?" she cried, struggling to stay upright as she clutched her side.

His face was dark and sinister as he loomed over her. Rachel could see no lines on his face before, but suddenly she thought she could see every single one - centuries or whole millenia written across facial features. "She is meant to be dead," he snarled.

Rachel cried out again, sinking to her knees. She slid her hands over her stomach as her organs seemed to twist within her. "She  _is_  dead," she said, because it was true. "I watched her die."

And just like that, the pain was gone. Tears stung her eyes and she shuddered, a collapsed mess of limbs on the ground. Rachel gasped for breath as her insides seemed to unclench.

The man bent over again, bringing his face just inches away from hers. His eyes were almost completely black, his pupils dilated beyond measure. He was breathing heavily, practically panting in front of her.

His breathe hit her face and she met his eyes. Rachel thought of forests, memories coming to her unbidden.

* * *

 _Rachel is nine when she goes on her first and only camping trip. She's excited for the trip, but she's even more excited that her fathers let her bring her best friend with her. Rachel and Santana have their own tent and the girls zip their sleeping bags together because it doesn't make sense for them to sleep apart. Santana lays close to her, like she always does, and they giggle together in the dark. Rachel grips Santana's hand tightly as their pajama-clad legs brush. Santana kisses her cheek and tells her that she loves her before she snuggles down into their joined sleeping bags._

 _It isn't long before Santana falls asleep, snoring as she wraps a hand around Rachel's arm. Rachel doesn't understand how the other girl can sleep; she's far too awake to even think about such a thing._

 _She has the sudden feeling that she wants to experience everything, that she wants to run through the forest and breathe in the air and see the stars. The idea takes hold of her conscious quickly, and she starts shaking Santana awake._

 _Santana rubs her eyes and grumbles, asking what Rachel wants. Rachel tells her that she wants to go out and Santana groggily agrees._

 _Rachel practically drags the other girl behind her through the woods, gripping her hand and pulling her along quickly. She doesn't know where she's going, but she knows that it's this way. She can feel it in her gut, can see the path clearly even though the woods they're traipsing through are dark._

 _There are a few fireflies dancing around them as they walk as fast as Rachel can pull them. She can hear crickets and can practically feel the night urging them on. Behind her, Santana grumbles and asks her to slow down. But Rachel can't stop, not now, not when she can feel it so strongly, creeping through her limbs and pushing her forward to where she needs to be. She doesn't know what it is but she can feel it and it's so close and she can almost reach out and -_

 _Santana stumbles and falls, pulling Rachel down with her into the dirt. Rachel stands right back up immediately, pulling on Santana's arm roughly. She cries out and yanks on Rachel's arm until she falls back onto the ground next to her friend._

" _You're goin' too fast," Santana says._

" _We're almost there," Rachel replies. "We have to keep going."_

 _Santana scraped her knee during the fall and she wipes at it with her sleeve, a small bit blood staining the fabric. Rachel leans down and kisses her leg just above the cut and pulls Santana back up with a smile. "Please?"_

 _Santana lets out a small sniffle but doesn't complain and Rachel holds her hand again as she leads them ahead. It isn't long before her almost frantic pace resumes. Santana mutters in Spanish as they march on, but Rachel pays her little mind. She doesn't have time to wait anymore. This will be worth it._

 _Eventually, they hit the edge of the trees, running straight through them into a large clearing. Rachel can't even see the other end of it for all the grass ahead of her. The grass is tall, much taller than either one of them, and it sways gently in the breeze. They stop, breathing heavily as they catch their breathe._

 _Rachel looks up and she gasps, grinning. She nudges Santana with her elbow, pointing up at the sky._

 _The stars twinkle above them in a greater number than she's ever seen before. They're bright as they shine down over the clearing and Rachel's never seen anything like it. The stars back in town were nothing like how they were out here in the forest._

 _Rachel feels like she can see forever up in the stars and she wants to be there among them, singing and dancing her way through eternity. When she looks back down, turning towards Santana to see the same joy on her face, the other girl lunges at her. Santana wraps her arms around Rachel's neck and kisses her the same way she had back underneath their tree in the park._

 _When Santana pulls away, they're both smiling. Rachel takes her hand again and starts running through the grass, pulling Santana with her._

* * *

Fingers snapped in front of Rachel's face. She exhaled and shook her head. She was still sitting on the floor of her bedroom, the very tall man bent over her. He continued to breathe heavily, bursts of air caressing her cheeks.

"Little children shouldn't go playing out in a universe that they can never understand," he hissed.

Rachel blinked and he was gone, the faint scent of leaves and grass still in the air and in her memories.

* * *

Rachel was ready promptly at seven, determined not to let crippling fear and terror from still-undefined sources keep her a sniffling mess on the floor of her bedroom for _too_  long. Her fathers had been adamant that she was going over to Brittany's house and staying over.

"It will be good for you to spend time with your friends outside of school," Hiram had said. Her arguments had fallen on death ears after that.

Quinn and Brittany were outside her door when they said they would be, sitting in the front of Quinn's car as Rachel slid into the back seat. She placed her duffel bag next to her and the extra coat she had brought on top of it.

"Hey, are you all set?" Quinn asked. Rachel nodded.

"Why do you have two coats?" Brittany wondered, turning around in the seat to look at her. "Whoa, are you okay? You look kinda rough."

Rachel smoothed down her skirt nervously. "Yes, of course," she said. "I'm fine. I often find myself quite cold and I prefer to have the option of a tertiary layer of protection."

Brittany squinted at her. "I have lots of blankets."

"Nevertheless, Brittany," she responded. "I like to have options."

"Me, too," Brittany smiled gently. "We asked Tina and Mercedes if they wanted to come, but they're on a double date with their boyfriends."

Quinn turned a corner, nodding along with the girl beside her. "Maybe they can come next time, Brittany. It might be fun to have a party with just all the girls."

"You're just saying that because you yell at boys a lot when you're drunk and nobody likes a mean drunk," Brittany deadpanned. She seemed a little happier than she had been, just slightly more like her old self.

"Puck deserves it," Quinn said, rolling her eyes.

They made small talk for the rest of the ride to Brittany's house (most of it composed of Brittany teasing Quinn about her drunken attitude.) Rachel remained mostly quiet, watching the scenery as they passed it, the tall trees whose leaves had mostly already browned and fallen to the ground and the faded green and brown grass of various lawns. She couldn't shake the horrible feeling that  _he_  was there, somewhere. Or maybe he was just everywhere, she thought uncomfortably. She started checking behind the trees they passed and in the gaps between people's homes and fences, just in case.

What had her life become?

"Rachel?" Quinn asked. "Are you coming?"

Rachel hadn't realized that they had stopped until she looked around. They were parked outside of a house she had never been to and Quinn had opened the backdoor for her. Rachel slid out of the car, smiling at the girl in front of her, as Brittany opened the other door and grabbed Rachel's duffel bag and spare coat.

Brittany ordered them pizza, making sure to order one that was vegan for Rachel, and the three girls walked upstairs to Brittany's room. The infamous Lord Tubbington was sitting on the bed, and Rachel watched as Brittany picked him up carefully and carried him downstairs, stroking his fur.

There were pictures stuck to the wall and Rachel noted the gaps between some of them. There had obviously been others there, and judging by the discolored squares dotting the wall, some of them had been there for a very long time before someone had removed them. They would be pictures of Santana, she knew, some of them likely of her as a little girl. Her heart ached and she stopped herself before she had the very unkind thought that it wasn't fair that Brittany had gotten so much more time with Santana and that Santana had likely had a very happy childhood without Rachel.

"It's probably really unhealthy, huh?" she heard Quinn say.

"I'm sorry?"

"Lord Tubbington," she replied. "It's probably really bad for him to be that size."

Rachel shrugged, turning back to the pictures on the wall. Quinn was in a few of them, as both the blonde teenager she had become and the awkward-looking Lucy she had been. "You knew them when they were younger," she said simply.

Quinn came up beside her. "We met at summer camp. They were the only people who would be friends with me back when I was Lucy," she replied. She ran her index finger over one of the pictures, tracing the outline of three little girls standing together. They were all wearing dresses with their hair pulled back and up off of their heads with ribbons.

"We were all best friends," she sighed, shaking her head. "And then high school ruined us. It ruined all of us," Quinn said, looking over at Rachel sympathetically.

Rachel cleared her throat uncomfortably, biting her lip. "Our high school careers are not yet over. They don't have to ruin us," she said, hoping that it was true, not just for Quinn and Brittany, but for her and Santana as well. She reached out a hand towards Quinn, resting it against her forearm.

"I'd say they've already done enough damage at this point," Quinn replied, looking away from her.

Brittany popped her head in before Rachel could say anything. "The pizza's here."

The three girls didn't talk of serious topics anymore and Quinn gave no more indication that she wanted to talk about their last three years of high school. They chatted amicably as they ate their pizza and decided on a movie to watch together. Somewhere in between her second slice of pizza and the climax of the cheesy comedy they were watching, Rachel realized that she had almost forgotten that there were other things outside of Brittany's front door. Almost.

She sighed. If that man could be waiting in Rachel's bedroom, he could just as easily be waiting up in Brittany's bedroom. Maybe he was going to kill all of them. Maybe it didn't matter if Quinn thought they were all ruined because they were all going to be dead soon. Maybe it would be a welcome -

"No," Rachel stopped herself.

"I know, right?" Brittany said, gesturing towards the television screen. "She should totally just hook up with that blonde girl instead of chasing after the guy with the mustache."

"What?"

"Brittany," Quinn laughed. "You're supposed to  _want_ her to get with the guy with the mustache."

Brittany frowned, crossing her arms.

There was that almost-feeling again as she observed the two other girls, that feeling that maybe they could be okay. She put a hand on Brittany's shoulder. "It's okay, Brittany," she said. "I agree with you that the two female leads appear more compatible with each other than with the male leads."

Brittany shot Quinn a smirk. "See?  _Rachel_ totally gets it."

Quinn narrowed her eyes and a look passed between her and Brittany that Rachel didn't understand. "Mm-hmm," she hummed.

Rachel stayed on high alert for the rest of the night, despite the fact that she was tired and afraid.  _He_  could be anywhere, at any moment, and she didn't want anymore unfortunate surprises. Even as they all walked up the stairs to Brittany's room together and placed blankets and pillows on the floor, Rachel couldn't stop herself from looking around them at all times. She assumed that somewhere, he was smiling at her paranoia, grinning at her with his ageless face and laughing as she settled on the floor next to Brittany and Quinn.

She understood what he had meant then, when he said that he was everything and nothing. Even when he wasn't there (she hoped), she still felt his presence.

* * *

There was little moonlight this night and the room was dark, shadows clinging to the sleeping bodies of the two girls lying next to Rachel. She resisted the urge to drum her fingers across her stomach or tap her foot against the wall as she waited.

Eventually, Rachel was sure that Brittany and Quinn were asleep enough that they wouldn't notice if she slipped away, the former mumbling something unintelligibly and the latter snoring lightly. She quietly slipped her lantern out of her bag and grabbed the spare coat she had brought for Santana.

She snuck out of Brittany's house easily, grabbing the girl's keys. The scrape of the key in the door as she locked it behind her and her heartbeat pounding in her ears were the only sounds she made.

Rachel was very aware that something was wrong as she stepped out on the sidewalk, her lantern unlit as it hung at her side. Rachel peered up at the sky. The moon was small, just a dim sliver against the black of the sky, and there were few stars. There were even fewer clouds and she frowned. The night was too dark and oppressive as it wrapped around her.

Rachel set off towards the cemetery quickly, grateful that Brittany's home was close than hers was. She pulled the collar of her jacket up closer to the back of her neck as she walked, her shoes smacking against the pavement.

Rachel turned a corner sharply and ran into someone. She let out a high-pitched squeal and jumped back, flinging her lantern in front of her.

"Santana?" she cried, taking in an unsteady breath. "What are you -? How? You're not in the cemetery."

Santana stood before her shaking, her shoulders rising and falling as she clutched at the buttons on the jacket Rachel had given her. Her eyes were red and her face was stained with tears. "Oh my god," she muttered, grabbing Rachel's wrist. "I don't know," she cried.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked quickly as Santana sobbed.

The jacket Santana wore was ripped, torn at the bottom so that half of it hung limp against her leg. "Fuck," she cursed, casting a quick glance behind her. "I don't know, but we have to go, okay? We have to go now."

"Santana, what happened? You're scaring me."

Santana bounced on the balls of her feet, gripping Rachel's wrist tightly. "No, Rachel, we need to fucking go," she said, fresh tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. "I'll tell you when we get to your house, alright? But we need to freaking move already."

Santana took off then, pulling Rachel behind her. The smaller brunette struggled to keep up as Santana practically jogged down the street. "No!" she cried, thinking of the strange and horrifying man who had been waiting in her bedroom earlier. "We can't go there. I'm staying at Brittany's."

The other girl continued to shake as they walked quickly. "Why the hell are you at Britt's house?"

"She and Quinn forced me to sleep over at her house."

Santana cursed again. "Okay, whatever, let's go there," she said. "I don't even care. We just have to go somewhere."

As they walked steadily towards Brittany's house, Santana continuing to cry and mutter under her breathe, Rachel slipped her wrist out of the girl's grasp and gripped her hand, squeezing it tightly. Santana's free hand wrapped around Rachel's arm and she leaned against the smaller girl.

Against her better judgement, Rachel thought again of horror movies. If she and Santana had been characters in a movie, they would have been dead by now. She looked up at the cloudless sky that held no stars and uncertainty swirled in her stomach.

She slipped the key into Brittany's front door, letting Santana pull her inside. She locked the door and Santana collapsed against her, wrapping her arms around Rachel's shoulders and crying into her hair. Rachel almost wished then that they  _had_  been in a horror film because at least then it would have all been over already. She brought her hands to rest on Santana's lower back and felt the other girl's fingers run through her hair.  _Almost._


	11. Santana's Interlude 2: We Are The Universe

"We are the universe  
observing itself  
observing itself

We are the universe  
destroying itself  
destroying itself  
destroying  
itself."  
Muse

 _Santana doesn't_ really _want to go camping. She doesn't want to go out someplace with no t.v. and no bathroom. She likes her soft bed and her comfy blanket and the noise of the blowing fan as it lulls her to sleep. The woods have a hard ground and creepy little bugs and nothing fun. But Rachel is her best friend and when she asks Santana to come with them, she practically begs. She sticks her bottom lip out and gets all teary-eyed and even though Santana can always tell when Rachel is fake-crying, she still can't say no to the girl._

 _It turns out that camping isn't the worst thing ever. Rachel's dads help them cook hot dogs over the campfire and then they get to toast marshmallows on sticks. They eat way more than they should, especially Santana, and make s'mores. They even tell a few ghost stories, giving her and Rachel sinister looks while they repeat stories Santana's heard a million times._

 _Camping isn't as bad as she thought it would be. It's quiet and peaceful, a nice break from all the fighting and yelling her parents do. Santana doesn't understand why people always give Rachel and her dads such a hard time. They're really nice and they let her put extra chocolate between her graham crackers and that makes them way more awesome than any other parents she knows._

 _As okay as camping is, Santana's really not up for whatever middle-of-the-night adventure Rachel has in mind when she wakes Santana up. Rachel pouts, unfortunately, and Santana has no choice but to crawl out of their joined sleeping back and slip her shoes on._

 _Santana takes Rachel's offered hand and lets the other girl practically drag her through the woods. The forest is dark and it's hard to see and Santana struggles to navigate across fallen branches and logs. The dark combined with the look on Rachel's face is almost scaring her; she's never seen Rachel look like_ that _before. Rachel looks desperate and eager, her face shining despite the darkness._

 _It isn't long before Santana's legs start burning and a stitch forms in her side. Santana starts pulling back on Rachel's hand, trying to stop her. Her body hurts and that look on Rachel's face... Santana just wants to stop and find out where that look is taking them._

 _Santana falls suddenly, stumbles and hits the ground hard, bringing Rachel down with her. Santana scrapes her knee and it bleeds, tiny rivulets of blood dripping down her leg. She wipes the blood away and is fully prepared to get mad at Rachel when the other girl leans down and kisses her leg. It makes Santana's stomach flutter and her insides flip over themselves and when Rachel begs her to keep going, there's nothing for her to do except follow along._

 _Eventually, they reach a large grass-filled clearing. The stars shine down on them and Santana hears Rachel laugh next to her. Rachel's smile is so wide that her face might split and when she looks up at the stars, Santana understands why._

 _It's beautiful, the most beautiful thing she's ever seen, probably. Santana doesn't know what to do with it, the sudden swell of joy and amazement in her chest, so she kisses Rachel. She throws herself at her best friend and presses their lips together because it feels like the right thing to do. When Rachel giggles and pulls away with a smile, she knows that it_ was _._

 _Rachel pulls her out into the grass and stay start running again, giggling and holding hands._

* * *

The ground was cold. Standing up was cold. Leaning against a tree or against her tombstone was cold. Santana couldn't find any position that didn't make her cold. She had body heat again, somehow, but it was rapidly being sucked away. Santana was absolutely freezing, her hands and her feet starting to numb. Rachel had kept telling her how cold she was to the touch and Santana was starting to understand what she had meant.

Rachel. Berry. Manhands. Treasure Trail. Medusa. Yentl.

Santana had spent a long time spouting off harsh nicknames for Rachel, calling her out for no reason. She was pretty much the biggest bitch ever, especially to Rachel. And now they were stuck in some messed up mindgame with some crazy psycho and Rachel was all she had.

In another life, Rachel Berry had once been the only thing Santana wanted.

She told herself that _that_ life wasn't this one and it didn't have to matter if she didn't want it, too (and she really didn't.)

Santana sat there, huddled against a tree, her hands stuffed into the pockets of Rachel's jacket. She could catch the faint scene of Rachel's perfume clinging to the sleeves of her only source of warmth. Santana brought her knees up to her chest and laid her forehead down against them.

Rachel was selfless. She always had been.

* * *

" _Are you okay?"_

 _Santana looks up, glaring at the girl she finds standing over her. "Fine," she snaps._

 _The girl fixes the headband on her head. "Are you sure?" she asks. She's loud and her voice is way too chirpy for Santana's tastes._

" _I said I'm fine," Santana says, crossing her arms._

 _The girl bites her lip. "I heard what those girls said to you," she starts, sitting on the ground next to Santana uninvited. There's an orange in one of her hands and she sets it in her lap._

 _Santana knows who the girl is. She's in Santana's class and she sits right up front (Santana sits in the very back.) The girl answers every question the teacher asks and no one likes her because she's a know-it-all._

" _My daddy says that you shouldn't listen to people who say mean things to you," she continues. "They're just jealous."_

 _Santana just shrugs, staring out at the kids playing on the jungle gym. It definitely didn't feel like those kids were jealous of her._

" _Do you want some of my orange?" the girl asks._

 _Santana shrugs again and watches the girl start to peel the fruit, tearing off pieces of the skin and dropping them on the ground in a neat pile. "Dad says that some people are just mean and it's not your fault," she says. "Mean people will always be mean people."_

 _The girl struggles as she tries to pull the orange in half, its segments sticking together too strongly for her to pry them apart. She grunts and her tongue peeks out of her mouth, her small hands failing to do more than squeeze the fruit until some of its juice runs down her arm. Santana sighs and takes the orange from her, digging her thumbs into the top of it and halving the fruit easily. She hands one half to the girl and keeps one half for herself._

 _The smaller girl smiles gratefully. "Thanks," she chirps. "I'm Rachel Berry." She holds her hand out smartly._

" _Yeah, I know."_

" _And you're Santana," Rachel says, smiling._

" _Yeah, I know that, too," Santana replies, shaking the hand Rachel offered her. There's juice from their shared fruit clinging to both of their hands and their fingers stick together for a moment._

" _I think those girls are wrong," Rachel says after a moment. "My daddies say that there's nothing wrong with having a different skin color. And_ I _think you're really pretty."_

 _Santana's cheeks tinge slightly pink and she ducks her head a little bit. "Thanks," she mutters, smiling slightly._

 _They sit together quietly until the end of recess and when they walk back into their classroom, they silently compromise and sit in the middle of the room next to each other. The next day, Rachel brings cookies for them to share._

* * *

All Santana had to think about all night are memories. She had a tangled mess of thoughts and memories that didn't make any sense anymore. Who they could have been and who they are was lost somewhere in between who they were once and Santana wished that she could close her eyes and disappear again.

Santana hated Rachel on principle, from the first day of middle school when the other girl walked in wearing an animal sweater and knee socks. Rachel didn't do herself any favors in the personality department, either.

But there was another Rachel. And _that_ Rachel? She had been everything. She was Santana's first kiss (and her second and her third and fourth and way more than was probably acceptable for kids who were just friends.) She was the first person that Santana let into her world and she was always Santana's biggest supporter.

"Fuck," Santana muttered, trying to pull her head down into the jacket. The wind blew.

It was bad enough that she had to be dead, but suddenly everything was infinitely more complicated.

* * *

Eventually, the sun came up and brought with it some manner of warmth. Not enough to properly heat her, but if Santana did some of Coach Sylvester's Cheerio drills, she could stop feeling like her toes were about to fall off. She sprinted across the cemetery, darting around various tombstones until she worked up a sweat.

Santana didn't even get to go anywhere and she hated it. She couldn't close her eyes and will herself away to that weird place where hours passed in the blink of an eye. No, she had to run self-motivated cheerleading drills in a cemetery with nothing but her memories and confusion.

And it was really freaking unfair, she thought, falling to the ground to rest. Thinking was her least favorite thing to do, second only to talking about anything serious. If it wasn't a scheme or an insult, Santana generally wanted nothing to do with it. And now it was all she had.

Brittany's appearance did nothing to help her state of mind.

* * *

" _Hi," a bright voice says._

 _When Santana glances up, she sees a tall blonde girl with long hair and shining blue eyes. "Uh, hi," she replies._

" _Will you go on the seesaw with me?" the girl asks._

" _No," Santana says immediately. "Why?"_

 _The girl bounces up and down on the balls of her feet, shrugging. "I don't know. I really want to go on it and you look like a good saw."_

 _Her eyebrows furrow. "What?"_

" _You look like a good saw," the girl smiles. "You know, to go with my see."_

 _Santana raises an eyebrow at the girl. She thinks the girl might be in her class, but she isn't sure. "Are you kidding me right now?"_

" _I'll give you some of my Dots," the girl says simply. "Please?"_

 _Santana opens her mouth to say "no" to the girl again (she hates the seesaw) when a boy runs past them. He runs straight into the blonde girl, pushing her to the ground. "Stay out of the way, stupid," he yells angrily, running away when a group of boys reach him._

 _The girl sits up, her eyes watering. She blushes as Santana stares at her, rising quickly and brushing the dirt from her jeans. She sniffles and turns away, saying nothing as she starts to walk away._

 _Santana doesn't know why she feels bad for the girl but she does. She stands up quickly, grabbing the girl's wrist. "Wait," she says. "I'll seesaw with you, I guess, if you still wanna."_

 _The other girl turns back around. "Really?"_

 _Santana nods. "Yeah, okay," she says nonchalantly._

 _The other girl wraps her arms around Santana suddenly, squeezing her tightly. "I'm Brittany," she says._

" _Santana," she replies. Brittany's smile and energy is contagious and she can't help but smile with her._

 _Brittany links her pinkie with Santana's as she marches them towards the seesaw. "We're gonna be best friends now, okay?" Brittany grins toothily._

 _Santana grins back. "Okay."_

* * *

Brittany had on her Cheerio uniform and her letterman jacket, mismatched mittens peeking out of from under the sleeves. As soon as she stepped inside the gate to the cemetery, she looked around uneasily, her brows furrowed.

Santana could do nothing but watch as Brittany walked towards her. And there was no mistake; Brittany _was_ coming straight at Santana, walking swiftly and with purpose. Anticipation bubbled in Santana's stomach as she watched her. It was like she knew.

When Brittany reached Santana, she took a deep breathe before she turned to face Santana's headstone. She frowned deeply as she pursed her lips. "Hey, San," she said. Her voice was thick.

Santana whimpered despite herself. For a moment, it felt like maybe -

She shook her head. "Hey, Britt," she said shakily, a watery smile on her face even though the other girl could neither see nor hear her.

Brittany fidgeted for a moment, biting her lip. "We're getting ready for Sectionals," she muttered eventually. "It kinda sucks, but we're trying. We -" she broke off, her shoulders shaking slightly. Her cheeks tinged a light pink color as her eyes watered. "It's just - We want to win this year. For you, San."

"Shit," Santana sighed, her own eyes tearing up as she watched Brittany. "It's okay, Brittany," she murmured softly, her throat constricting. Brittany was everything happy and beautiful in the world, but she now was just as hurt as any of them. "I'm gonna come back, okay? I'm gonna come back and we're going to win together."

Santana brought her hand up to rest on Brittany's shoulder, running her fingers down her arm in comfort. Brittany shuddered and pulled her jacket closer to her body. She turned her head and looked to where Santana was standing. She looked right at her without seeing anything and Santana cried out, unable to stop herself. Brittany was so close that Santana could count the freckles that dusted her nose. She could make out every individual shade of blue and grey in Brittany's eyes. Santana could see everything and Brittany could see nothing and it only made Santana cry harder.

Brittany turned away, looking back at the tombstone in front of her. "I really miss you, Santana," she whispered, wiping at her eyes.

"I miss you, too, Brittany," Santana answered, reaching out to grip Brittany's mitten-covered hand. "You're my best friend," she said.

Brittany didn't react at all. She merely stood in silence, her face unbearably sad. Santana stood next to her, holding her hand and crying with her, wishing that the other girl could just feel her. She couldn't, though, and the thought hung heavy in Santana's mind. Brittany couldn't feel her and she was still dead and there was a madman on the loose who had ruined her life and everything just freaking sucked.

A horn sounded, startling both of them. Quinn had pulled up alongside the gate and rolled her window down. "Come on, Brittany," she yelled. "We're going to be late."

Brittany sighed and with one last look at Santana's tombstone, she walked towards Quinn's car. Her hand came out of Santana's grasp easily, as if it had never been there (and it likely hadn't.) Santana missed Brittany immediately, missed her mismatched mittens and her ponytail and her pressed Cheerio uniform.

Brittany climbed into Quinn's car quickly, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes for a moment. Quinn put a hand on Brittany's shoulder, smiling at her kindly. "It's okay," Santana saw her say. And then they were gone.

Santana kicked at the ground, stirring up the dirt. She tore Rachel's jacket off, throwing it down and stepping on it. She screeched, curse words in English and Spanish ringing through the graveyard because fuck, it just wasn't fair. Santana kicked at Rachel's jacket, digging her toes into it and yelling as she cried. Nothing was fair and nothing made sense anymore.

Santana fell to the ground, collapsed sobbing on to the dirty and the grass.

* * *

" _Santana?"_

" _Yeah?" she says, glancing over at her friend.  
_

 _Rachel bites her lip, twirling her fork through her spaghetti. "Do you think I'm pretty?"_

" _Of course," Santana smiles._

 _"Really? My nose is kind of big," Rachel replies, grimacing._

" _I think it's cute."_

 _Rachel huffs. "I don't."_

" _Well,_ I _think you're beautiful."_

* * *

"She's cute."

Santana looked up, her chest still heaving with sobs. She grabbed Rachel's jacket, wringing it between her hands. "You son of a bitch," she cried, her voice cracking. "You get the hell in here so I can kick your fucking ass."

The man was standing just outside the gate. _That_ man, the one she would recognize anywhere. He had killed her twice and now he was just fucking with her, fucking with her and Rachel and everyone else.

Santana stood up angrily, slipping into Rachel's jacket. She told herself it was warmth and not because she could smell Rachel's shampoo on the collar. "Well, come in, asshole. I ain't gots all day," she yelled, willing herself to calm down and stem the flow of tears still trying to leak out of her eyes.

He smirked at her, brushing his fingers across the top of the gate almost tenderly.

Santana crossed her arms, taking a few deep breathes until she managed to stop crying. She continued to inhale, memories of Rachel teaching her proper breathing techniques flitting through her mind. She glared at him, wiping at her eyes angrily. _He_ took that away from her.

He grinned fully then, baring his teeth at her. Santana knew what 'predatory' looked like, had practically invented the look, and the man standing just outside the cemetery looked every bit like a lion about to pounce.

"Oh, don't worry. I would hardly consider myself a lion," the man said. "And you're hardly a lamb."

"Whatever, I don't care," she snapped, marching closer to the gate separating her from him.

He chuckled. "Perhaps we should call Brittany back," he grinned. "I think she would care."

"Fuck no," she said. "You leave Brittany out of this." Santana's glare intensified. "And Rachel, too," she added. "You stay the hell away from all of them."

"It's a little late for that," the man replied.

"Why?" she demanded. "What the fuck have you done now?" Santana stormed closer still, stopping just in front of him. He was tall and thin, his face pale. He had long arms and she paused at what she hoped was a distance just out of reach for him.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," he started, leaning down to rest his elbows on the gate. "I've already paid a visit to Miss Berry today."

Santana flushed, tightening her hands into fists. Her nails dug into her palms until she was sure they were bleeding. "What did you do to her? I swear to God, if you so much as -"

"Rachel's fine," he interrupted sharply. He slid his left arm across the top of the gate, letting it lie across the cold metal. He kept his right elbow where it was and brought his chin to rest in his palm. "For now."

Santana watched him with building rage. He had ruined their lives, all of them, and he had the audacity to stand before her nonchalantly, like nothing he did mattered. "Just who the fuck do you think you are?" she cried. "I am so fucking sick of this. You think you can just come here and fuck with us? Listen you sick fuck, I am done," Santana said, her voice cracking again as her fury grew. "I wants answers and I wants them now. I'm not playing your stupid fucking games anymore."

"Little Santana Lopez, always so quick to anger," he sighed.

"Uh, yeah," she said, throwing her hand up at him. "Of course I'm angry. You keep killing me, you dick."

He shook his head at her, dangling both of his arms over the gate. "It's not my fault you won't die properly," he smirked. "I don't mind, really. This is much more fun."

"Yeah?" Santana shot back. "Why don't you come in here so that _I_ can kill _you_? Then we'll see how much _fun_ you're having."

"I have a better idea," he said. He reached down with one of his hands and lifted the latch of the gate, popping it up until it hit metal. "Why don't _you_ come out here?"

"Oh, I can leave now?" she quipped. "Look, if we're going to do this - whatever it is - you could at least tell me who the hell you are."

Santana made a move for the gate, but he raised a hand to stop her. "It's not quite time for that yet," he said, grinning again. "Why don't you turn around and at least say goodbye to the place that has so kindly allowed you to call it home?"

She scoffed. "I'm not stupid. There's no way I'm taking my eyes off you," she replied.

"You don't really have much of a say in the matter, I'm afraid," he said, half of his body practically hanging over the top of the gate. He looked bored and disinterested in her. "Children," he frowned. "They're always so quick to forget."

Santana blinked and when she opened her eyes, the man was gone. Everything was gone; she wasn't even in the cemetery anymore. It was nighttime now and she was standing at the edge of a field, brown and green grass surrounding her. It was as tall as her waist and she ran her fingertips over the tops of the blades around her.

"Of course," she muttered to herself. "All I get anymore is this bullshit."

The moon was nowhere to be seen, but the sky was dotted with stars, tiny dots of light that stretched out across the heavens. The universe was vast and unimaginable and she could feel it pressing down against her. It made Santana feel like just a pawn in some sick game (and she more or less was, as far as she could tell.)

Santana heard giggling and she whipped around, spotting two small brunettes that she recognized immediately. The taller of the two reached out and grabbed the other girl, kissing her.

The two girls took off across the field and Santana frowned. She had this memory, she knew she did, but something was different. Something was off. Frowning, Santana took off after the two girls, following a young Rachel and Santana as they ran.

* * *

 _Rachel has a tight grip on her hand as they run through the grass. Rachel's got that look on her face again, that kind of scarily determined one that makes Santana nervous. She stops suddenly and Santana runs into her, pressing against her back. Rachel teeters for a moment and Santana wraps an arm around her waist so she doesn't fall._

 _"Sorry," she mumbles._

 _"It's alright," Rachel replies. "This is the place."_

 _Santana looks around. The grass is shorter here than in the rest of the meadow and it brushes against her ankles as she stands there. All around them, the rest of the grass is too tall for her to see over. "How'd you know where this spot was?"_

 _"I'm not sure," Rachel says. "I just had a feeling and it led me here."_

 _Rachel smiles, pulling Santana further into the section of shirt grass. "Come lay with me, San," she says softly. "I want to watch the stars."_

 _Rachel's face is back to normal now. She no longer looks desperate and determined. She's calm and kind and it makes Santana smile because that's what she's used to - the Rachel who takes her hand and looks at her like she's the only thing in the world._

 _Rachel spots some flowers, small orange ones, and she walks Santana over to them. They sit in the grass with their legs crossed and weave the flowers into each other's hair, wrapping them up into braids while the stars shine down in them. Rachel's fingers brush through Santana's long hair and she sighs._

 _Rachel eventually pulls Santana down on her back, lacing their fingers together as she settles next to her, dropping a kiss to her cheek as she lies down. Their legs brush and their hips rest against one another and Santana thinks that she could stay out there forever._

 _They don't know any constellations so they decide to make some up, tracing their joined hands up through the air above them. Rachel points out musical notes and flowers while Santana uses her turns to point out animals and sometimes, food. Other times, they just lie together in silence, watching the stars twinkle._

 _A star shoots over them and Rachel nudges Santana's leg. She points upward. "Make a wish," she says._

 _Santana thinks for a moment, biting her lip. Rachel squeezes her hand. "I wish that me and Rachel can be together forever," she settles on, looking over at her best friend. She thinks it's kind of cheesy, but she knows Rachel likes that kind of stuff. And besides, Santana really kind of does wish for that to actually happen. "You go," she whispers._

 _Rachel smiles at her, beaming brightly. "I wish," she pauses for a moment. "I wish that Santana's wish comes true," she giggles, throwing an arm around Santana's waist and leaning against her shoulder._

" _Hey," Santana mutters. "You just wasted a wish," she says._

" _No, I didn't," Rachel replies._

" _But you like, just wished for the same thing I did."_

 _Rachel nods against her shoulder. "Well, you took the one I was gonna say," she says. "And now that we've both wished for it, it_ has _to come true."_

 _Santana can't help the smile that settles on her face. "Hopefully," she admits._

 _Rachel opens her mouth like she's about to say something, but a sudden noise in the grass interrupts them. They look at each other with wide eyes as they stand up, their hands still clasped together._

 _A man steps out of the tall grass then, dusting off his pants as he steps into their clearing within a clearing. "Hello, children," he greets, nodding his head. He smiles down at them._

 _Rachel tugs on Santana's arm. "Hi," she says uneasily. "Excuse us. We have to go now."_

 _Rachel starts backing away, pulling Santana with her. But Santana doesn't want to go quite yet. She's not sure why; she just knows that she doesn't want to leave. The man has shooting stars in his eyes and Santana wants to stay and make wishes on them._

" _I only want to talk to you," he says. He smiles gently as he seats himself in the grass, stretching his long legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankle. He leans back on his hands._

" _Let's just - let's just stay for a minute, okay?" Santana says to Rachel, gripping her hand._

" _We're not supposed to talk to strangers," Rachel whispers back, eyeing the strange man with caution. She bounces on her toes and bites her lip as she stares at the man sitting in front of them._

" _Ah, you're very smart, Rachel," he says. "Indeed, one_ isn't _supposed to talk to strangers. But I'm not a stranger, you see. You know me."_

 _Rachel shakes her head immediately. "No, I don't," she replies, leaning against Santana. She wraps her free hand around Santana's upper arm and moves slightly behind her._

" _Actually, I think you'll find that you know me quite well," he remarks casually. He picks a blade of grass out of the ground and twirls it between his fingers. "I'm here to make all of your wishes come true."_

* * *

Santana watched the scene in front of her with a smile on her face at first, reluctantly admitting that she and Rachel were kind of cute, in that little kid way. And then _he_ showed up and she could have sworn that at one point he winked at her as she stood just outside of the circle they were all in.

Santana's eyes narrowed. She didn't remember this, not until she watched it happening in front of her. When she saw it, she could recall living it. She didn't know what was going to happen next, but it probably wasn't anything good.

Santana blinked and when she opened her eyes, she was standing on a sidewalk. She glanced around, taking in the trees and the road. She had spent enough time staring wistfully outside the cemetery to realize that she _was_ outside of it.

"Well, there's that," she muttered, looking for the man and not finding him with her. She scowled; because of course he was gone, leaving her with a million more questions and no answers. "What now?"

Santana took off walking, heading in the direction of Rachel's house. Or she would have, if the jacket she was wearing hadn't caught on something. She turned around, muttering in Spanish.

"Holy shit," she cried. "What the -"

A little girl was standing there on the other side of the cemetery gate. She had long brown hair and deep brown eyes. She was remarkably pale, her cheeks sunken in and the skin of her arms was loose. She was wearing a headband and a torn sweater, matched with a plaid skirt. "Don't leave me here, Santana," she whispered, her hands gripping the hem of Santana's jacket.

Santana's jaw dropped and she stumbled back, ripping the jacket as she fell. A young Rachel pressed herself right against the gate, her arms sticking through the bars. She wiggled her fingers. "Please," she whispered sadly.

Santana drug herself from the gate quickly, sliding back across the pavement as she stood back up. "What the fuck?" she yelled. Her breathe came in short bursts and she backed away.

Rachel started crying. "Please don't go," she gasped, wheezing a bit. "Don't leave."

"The fuck?" Santana cried out. "I didn't - I don't even -"

Rachel, no older than nine, angled her body, fitting her shoulder through the gap in between the bars on the gate. She struggled, ducking her head down as she tried to climb through. "You can't leave me here, Santana, please," she said.

Rachel managed to get one of her legs through the gate and Santana didn't stay to find out whether she could get the rest of her body out of the cemetery.

"Wait!" she heard Rachel say. "Don't leave me!" she screamed.

Santana heard footsteps slap against the pavement of the sidewalk. They were own, maybe, or someone else's following behind her (she didn't turn around to find out.) Santana ran as quickly away from Rachel as she could, only stopping when she ran right into a different Rachel.

The teenage Rachel was standing in front of her, the living breathing Rachel that Santana had come to depend on as they were thrust into the most fucked up situation Santana had ever heard of.

"Santana?" Rachel cried. "What are you -? How? You're not in the cemetery."

Santana looked behind her, seeing no one. But that didn't matter, she knew. Just because she couldn't see anything didn't mean it wasn't there. She grabbed Rachel, practically dragging her down the street. Santana was crying, crying for reasons she couldn't even think about. All she knew was that Rachel's hand was warm in hers and when she leaned against Rachel, the smaller girl propped her up. That was enough.

When they reached Brittany's house and walked inside, Santana collapsed against Rachel fully, pressing herself against Rachel and running her fingers through Rachel's hair and across her neck. She could feel Rachel's hand moving down her back, her voice whispering in Santana's ear.

"It'll be okay," Rachel said.

Santana pulled away slightly, running her palms across Rachel's temples. They were a little chill from the cold they had just come in from, but her eyes were bright and her cheeks and nose were pink. She sighed.

"What is it? What happened?" Rachel asked.

She brushed her fingers across Rachel's face, skirting over her features softly. Santana felt Rachel push her hair out of her eyes and wipe the tears from her cheeks. She inhaled shakily. "I'm just – I'm really glad you're alive," she said honestly.

Santana was aware of how close they were – how her body was flush against Rachel's. Rachel smiled at her gently, looking up at her the way she used to. It made her feel warm and cared for, even though for all she knew, some maniac could burst in and kill them both in a second.

Her fingertips brushed over Rachel's lips, lips that she used to kiss without a second thought. She knew that she could just lean down and press their lips together because they were running out of time and running out of luck and it would be nice if she could just have one moment that made sense.

Rachel's breathe was warm across her face as she leaned down. She could still feel Rachel's fingers on her face, playing with her hair and she could almost –

"Rachel? Is that you?" someone called. Quinn came down the stairs then, pushing her hair out of her face and rubbing her eyes. "What are you doing down here?"


	12. The Sum of Our Parts

" _When adults say, 'Teenagers think they are invincible' with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don't know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail."  
_ _John Green, Looking for Alaska_

"Rachel?" Quinn repeated. "What are you doing down here?"

Santana pulled away from Rachel quickly, running her hand through her hair. "God-fucking-damnit, Fabray," she cursed.

Quinn surveyed Rachel, her gaze sweeping over her lantern and her coat. Her eyes narrowed and her eyebrows furrowed. "Are you going somewhere?"

She reached the bottom of the stairs, resting her hands on her hips as she stared at Rachel expectantly. Santana scowled and crossed her arms, glaring at her. Quinn gave no indication that she saw the dead girl.

Santana wondered whether or not Quinn would fall over if she pushed her. It was a really tempting idea and she ignored it by glancing over at Rachel, her back still pressed against the door. "Well, answer the girl," she said. "She's gonna get premature wrinkles if she keeps looking at you like that."

"I - uh, well that is to say," Rachel stuttered, shaking her head slightly. "I wasn't going anywhere," she finished lamely.

Quinn sighed heavily. "Right," she said. "You just decided to put your jacket on and take a midnight stroll through the house with a lantern."

"Would you believe me if I said 'yes'?" Rachel tried, trying not to glare in Santana's direction when she snorted.

Quinn eyed Rachel for a moment, looking at her cheeks, which were pink from the cold (and what had almost happened with Santana) and her windblown hair. Her lantern was still on. "You already went, didn't you?" she asked knowingly. Rachel looked at her guiltily and she sighed. "Rachel, we could have gone to the cemetery tomorrow when we took you home. What were you thinking?"

Rachel pursed her lips. "I couldn't wait that long," she said simply.

"You couldn't -? Seriously?" Quinn asked incredulously. She scoffed. "This is ridiculous. Do you not understand how messed up that is?"

Rachel frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. Quinn had no idea what was really happening and Rachel was quickly growing tired of her interference. She had too many other things to worry about. "I don't recall asking for your opinion on the matter."

"Well, that's too bad because you're getting it," Quinn responded, her voice rising. "I think losing one friend in a back alley in the middle of the night gives me the right to have an opinion. I'm not going to just stand here and watch you run yourself into the ground."

Rachel opened her mouth to say something, but Santana interrupted her. "She's wound up really tight," she said, her gaze sweeping over Quinn's face and down her body. "Like, _really_ tight."

Santana had an uncharacteristic look of concern on her face and it softened Rachel. "I'm sorry," she told Quinn. "It was never my intention to worry you, Quinn."

Quinn's arms fell limp at her sides and her anger seemed to dissipate. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and held up a hand. "Look, just," she exhaled heavily. "Just try to be a little more careful, okay?"

Santana was still looking at Quinn, staring at her intently. "You should tell her that she needs to trim her hair. It's starting to look a little 'middle-aged soccer mom,'" she said, tilting her head a bit. It looked like there was something else she wanted to say, but she kept quiet.

Rachel focused her attention on Quinn. "I will," she said honestly. "Try to be more careful, that is," she added. Santana rolled her eyes.

"Come on, let's go to bed," Quinn smiled.

"I always knew Fabray wanted you," Santana smirked.

Rachel pointedly ignored her and started following Quinn upstairs. Santana trailed along behind them. "Wait," she said. "I really want to have a shower."

Rachel glanced behind her. "They'll hear it," she muttered as quietly as she could, looking at Quinn's back to make sure she didn't hear anything.

"Well, shit, tell her that _you_ want to take a shower," Santana replied. "Sit on the sink or something. Bring a freaking book. Because I don't think you really grasp the full reality of the situation," she said firmly. "I have been outside for _weeks_. I'm getting a shower."

"Actually, Quinn," Rachel said quietly. They reached the second floor and Quinn turned around to face her. "I'd like to have a shower, if that's okay."

Quinn's brows furrowed. "Right now?" Rachel simply nodded. "Okay, well, help yourself," she said, shrugging. "Towels are under the sink," she threw over her shoulder, slipping quietly into Brittany's bedroom.

Rachel followed Santana into the bathroom, quickly turning around when Santana started undressing. If she only turned her head slightly to the left, she would probably be able to see - Rachel cleared her throat, quickly suppressing that urge before it could take hold of her.

"It's okay if you want to sneak a peek," Santana said knowingly. "I'm totally hot."

Rachel rolled her eyes and waited until she heard the sound of running water and the swish of a closing shower curtain before she turned around. She heard Santana fiddling with bottles in the shower and water splashing loudly on to the plastic of the bathtub.

"Oh my god," Santana groaned. "You have no idea how good this feels."

"I've taken my fair share of showers, you know," Rachel hissed, trying to stay quiet lest someone assume she was talking to herself. Accusations of auditory hallucinations were probably the last thing she needed. She was flirting with a dangerous line, the one between her actual life and whatever mess she was caught in with Santana, and she was sure that the line was probably going to vanish entirely at some point.

"Ugh, not like this," Santana said, groaning. "This is the best shower I've ever had."

"As lovely as that is, would you please be so kind as to inform me of the events that led to you getting out of the cemetery?" Rachel asked. She put her palms flat on the sink and pulled herself up to sit there.

"That guy came to see me," Santana answered. Rachel heard the sound of a mostly empty bottle being squeezed and the scent of artificial apricot filled the room. "He was pretty much just a useless asshole, though."

"What did he say?"

"A whole lot of bullshit," Santana said, her voice rising. "He's totally a fucking –"

Rachel shushed Santana immediately, swinging her legs out in front of her. "Do you have to be so loud?" she whispered.

"What? They can't hear me," Santana shot back. Rachel could practically see her eyes rolling. She heard a scoff came from the shower.

"You know, you're being incredibly cavalier about all of this," Rachel said. She didn't understand the sudden wave of nonchalance Santana was sporting; it was hard to be around something so calm when she felt so completely wound up on edge.

Bottles stopped clanking for a moment and silence filled the small bathroom, swirling around with the steam and clinging to Rachel's skin. It stuck there and she wiped at her forehead, waiting for an answer, something reassuring perhaps or at the very least, slightly less blasé.

"I just want to take a shower, okay?" she heard Santana say. Her voice was quieter now, but it did little to calm Rachel's insides. "We're screwed, Rachel. Like, literally. At least let me clean up before tall, dark, and fucked-in-the-head tries to bend me over and make me take it."

"You're…also being incredibly vulgar about all of this," Rachel said simply.

"Tell me I'm wrong, though," Santana replied. Water splashed against the tiles of the shower wall and the acrylic resin of the bathtub, echoing throughout the room and inside Rachel's head. She was suddenly very aware that Santana was naked on the other side of the shower curtain and she felt even less calm than before.

"I saw you, by the way," Santana continued. "But you were a kid and you were totally dead. You tried to get me to stay in the cemetery and then when I wouldn't come back in, you tried to climb through the gate. On my list of traumatizing life events, it's probably right up there with being murdered."

Rachel's eyes widened and she felt her heart drop down into her stomach. "You saw her, too?"

"Wait, _you_ saw her, too?" Santana responded. She pulled the shower curtain back and stuck her head out. "When did you see her?"

Rachel gulped and tried not pay attention to the way that Santana's hair clung to her, settling around her cheekbones and down her neck. Almost kissing Santana had an odd effect on her, she concluded. "A few days ago, in the cemetery."

"Well, shit," is all Santana says.

Silence filled the room again, heavy and oppressive like everything else in Rachel's life. It was big and meaningful and full of events that weighed her down and haunted her steps, quite literally in some cases, most of them involving Santana and the ominous man playing with their lives. All Rachel had anymore were moments of silence and dead people (or maybe he was alive; she had no way of knowing.)

"Do you remember going camping?" Santana eventually asked.

Rachel bit her lip. Camping? They had gone –? Yes, that was right. She had almost forgotten that she was supposed to remember something. Her mind was full of old memories and thoughts and confusion and she caught herself wishing for simpler days, when all she had to worry about were song selections and dance moves. Sectionals were coming up, after all, and she should start –

"Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

Santana stuck her hand through the space between the shower curtain and the wall. "Will you hand me a towel?"

She hopped off of the sink, opening one of the doors beneath. Rachel quickly grabbed the first towel she found, a bright red one. Water was dripping off of Santana's outstretched fingers and Rachel could trace its path down her arm, droplets slipping down her shoulder and bicep, catching in the crook of her elbow before reaching her wrist.

Santana snapped her fingers. "C'mon, Berry," she scoffed. "It's not that hard."

Rachel blushed, handing Santana the towel before quickly turning away. Now, there had been something she was supposed to remember. The towel? No, she had already remembered that. A song selection? Rachel never thought she would see the day when the big answer to everything _wasn't_ a song, but that didn't seem right, either.

"Go get me some clothes," Santana half-ordered. "Check the bottom drawer of Britt's dresser."

"I didn't hear a 'please.'"

" _Please,_ " Santana drawled.

Rachel nodded and crept quietly into Brittany's room, carefully sidestepping the two girls who were sleeping on the floor. Quinn's short hair was sticking up at odd angles around her face and one of her legs was sticking out from underneath her blanket. Brittany was nestled up next to her, her own hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Her head was resting against Quinn's shoulder and she was gripping the other girl's arm. It was all very sweet and lovely and Rachel wondered where _these_ girls had been for the last three years of high school.

She pulled out the bottom drawer as instructed. It was empty. A thin layer of dust clung to the bottom of the drawer and Rachel frowned. Brittany had probably been forced to put Santana's clothes away, stuffed into a box somewhere with the pictures from her wall and other trinkets that were associated with the dead girl.

Sliding the drawer shut, Rachel was suddenly overcome with the feeling that it wasn't fair. She tried to push it down but it came to her anyway. _They_ should have had trinkets and pictures and memorabilia from their friendship.

* * *

" _I got you something," Rachel says, smiling brightly. She holds out a small purple box._

" _What is it?" Santana asks. She reluctantly digs her heels into the dirt, slowly stopping the swing she's sitting on. She had almost reached the perfect jumping height, too._

 _Rachel rolled her eyes playfully. "You have to open it, Santana," she starts, still holding out the purple box until friend takes it. "I have one, too. And we can wear them at the same time and then we'll match."_

 _Santana pulls the lid off of the box, digging down through a few thin pieces of tissue until her fingers brush against something. She pulls it out and smiles when she sees a bracelet. It's made out of different colored threads that have been tied and looped together. It's all reds and oranges and golds and it makes Santana think of fire._

" _Do you like it?" Rachel asks nervously, biting her lip and twisting her fingers through the links of the chains holding her swing up. "My daddy taught me how to make it last weekend." She holds her arm out again, tugging her sleeve up and showing off her own bracelet. It's made of blues and purples and pinks and Santana thinks of a lake at sunset, water catching the colors on the horizon. "I have one, too. See?" Rachel says._

 _Santana nods. "They're awesome," she grins, sticking her hand out next to Rachel's. "Put it on me."_

 _Rachel slides her fingers across Santana's palm, tying the two loose ends of the bracelet together on Santana's right wrist. Her own bracelet is on her left wrist and when Santana grabs her hand and pulls her away from the swings, their hands stay clasped in front of her. They run across the playground and all Rachel can see are the colors dancing between them._

* * *

Rachel eventually ended up grabbing a pair of pants and a simple shirt from a different drawer in Brittany's dresser. "The bottom drawer was empty," she said when she entered the bathroom and handed the clothes to Santana.

Santana shut off the blow dryer she had been using and set it on the sink. "She got rid of my clothes?" she said, adjusting the towel that was wrapped around her body. Her eyebrows furrowed and she turned away from Rachel, facing the mirror.

"I think it was her mom," Rachel answered. "She made Brittany remove most of her pictures of you from the bedroom wall because they were too upsetting."

Santana glared at the sink, picking at an edge with her fingernails. "Funny how people can cram your entire life into a box and throw it in the closet, huh?" she said. Her voice was quiet and hollow and a little bit sad all at once and it hit Rachel in the chest and settled in her heart.

"You know it's not like that," she replied. "Brittany is grieving and she's trying to learn how to live without her best friend."

And that was the difference, Rachel realized. Up until a couple of days ago, she hadn't understood the depth of her connection to Santana; Brittany on the other hand had her entire life to understand exactly how Santana fit with her.

"Yeah, I know," Santana sighed. "But she doesn't have to learn because I'm gonna come back," she nodded to herself. "I'm going to come back and it'll be like I never left."

"Right," Rachel said. "Like you never left."

And that was the other difference. It wasn't just that Brittany knew Santana's place in her life; it was that _Santana_ had a place in her life for Brittany and it had been comfortably occupied for seventeen years. Rachel's place was more confusing and more dangerous and more complicated and when all was said and done, Rachel didn't know where she would end up.

"Well, not totally," Santana told her, looking up and finding Rachel's eyes in the mirror. "Like, shit means something. I told you that already," she said, sending Rachel a small smile. "Now turn around because I wanna put clothes on."

Rachel smirked. "I thought you said that it was perfectly acceptable for me to 'sneak a peek.'"

"Yeah, a peek, Berry," Santana shot back. "But no one gets the whole show for free."

Rachel blushed again – what were they even doing? – and stared at the tile on the wall as she heard the sound of fabric behind her, the brush of a towel across a thigh maybe or a cotton shirt being pulled down over a stomach. It was all a little too much and suddenly she was inundated with thoughts that she definitely shouldn't have been having. Almost kissing Santana really _had_ done something to her.

"Okay, you can turn around now," Santana said after a few moments. Brittany's pants were a little long on her and she tugged on them uncomfortably for a moment.

"You look much better," Rachel told her. "You're not nearly as pale as you were before. How do you feel?"

Santana backed away from her, leaning against the wall and sliding down it. She pulled her knees up to her chest and motioned for Rachel to sit down. "Better," she muttered. "Cleaner."

Rachel settled down near her, leaning against the bathtub. "Good," she smiled.

"You never answered me before," Santana said. At Rachel's look of confusion, she frowned. "The camping trip? Do you remember?"

Rachel paused. Yes, right, the camping trip. _That_ was the thing she was trying to remember. There were s'mores and ghost stories, trees and forest for what felt like hours. And then there was grass and the stars and flowers and her best friend. How did she keep forgetting these things?

"The guy was there, right? He totally showed up," Santana continued.

"Did he?" she wondered to herself. She frowned. She remembered stars, what seemed like thousands of stars hovering over them. Rachel remembered stars and wishes. And then there was the man, coming into their little area and bringing with him everything that was wrong with their lives.

"That's right," Rachel said eventually. "He showed up. I wanted to leave but you wouldn't come with me. And then – and," she stuttered a bit. A memory retreated through her mind and she tried to catch it. "There – I can't. I can't remember."

Santana shrugged when Rachel glanced over at her. "I can't, either. Sometimes I remember shit and then it just goes away, you know?"

Rachel nodded. "I – I think we did something we shouldn't have," she said quietly, bowing her head.

"It wasn't good, that's for sure," Santana replied. "I mean, look where it got us."

Rachel exhaled heavily, releasing a deep breathe she didn't know she was holding in. She ran a hand across her face. "I'm so tired," she murmured.

There was a soft knock at the door and it opened slightly. Quinn stuck her head in, her eyes half-closed. "Rachel? Are you okay? You've been in here for a long time," she muttered. She absent-mindedly started to smooth her hair down.

Santana scowled. "Fabray is the nosiest bitch, I fucking swear."

"I'm fine, Quinn," Rachel answered.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Oh, um, I was just thinking and I got carried away," Rachel said quickly.

Quinn nodded, stepping into the room. She dropped down on the ground next to Rachel. "What –" she yawned, "what were you thinking about?"

"Nothing in particular," Rachel answered. Quinn's action was contagious and Rachel wasn't able to stop herself from yawning.

They all sat there in silence for a moment, Rachel catching Santana's eyes. Santana just shrugged at her. Quinn's eyes were closed as she slid down slightly to rest her head against the bathtub.

"I'm not going to try and sneak out through the bathroom window, if that's what you're worried about," Rachel said to Quinn. "I am definitely in for the night."

"Yeah, that's what I thought earlier. I'm not taking my chances with you, Berry," she responded. "I know how sneaky you can be."

Santana snorted. "She's got you there."

Rachel eyed the blonde next to her, remembering what Santana had said earlier. There were dark circles under Quinn's eyes and she looked a little paler than normal. Exhaustion was a permanent fixture in Rachel's life and she recognized it easily. "Quinn, you know that it's not your job to take care of us. Not that I'm not grateful for your concern, of course," she said gently. "But you don't need to look after everyone all the time."

"Don't I?" Quinn muttered. "Did you know that Tina's been working on 'Trouty Mouth'? She wants us to perform it at a competition, with a whole verse in Spanish," she started. "Finn and Puck spent most of yesterday moping about how they both lost their virginity to the same lesbian. I've got you sneaking out at all hours of the night to go to the cemetery. And don't even get me started on Brittany. It's a mess, Rachel," Quinn ended.

"You don't have to tell us that," Santana frowned.

"It's okay that things are a mess, sometimes," Rachel said, casually nudging Santana with her foot. "Everyone grieves differently. And it's perfectly alright for you to be a mess with us, Quinn."

Quinn sighed.

The bathroom door opened again and Brittany shuffled in, struggling to keep her eyes open. "Mm," she drew out for a long moment. "What are we doing in here?"

"We were just talking," Rachel answered. She glanced over at Santana. She was staring at Brittany, tracing the curves and lines of her body with a look on her face that Rachel had only seen her wear a handful of times. She looked like she was about to cry and Rachel didn't know how to decipher half of the other emotions flitting across her face.

Brittany slid down against the bathtub, laying her head on Quinn's shoulder. "What are we talking about?"

"How much everything sucks," Quinn said.

Brittany nodded. "Mm-hmm."

Her eyes on the two blondes next to her, Rachel slid her hand across the ground next to her, brushing her fingers against Santana's wrist. She felt Santana's eyes dart towards her and after a moment, Santana took her hand. She squeezed it.

"Can we go talk about how much everything sucks in my room?" Brittany asked after a pause. "It's more comfortable in there."

"I think that's a good idea, Brittany," Quinn smiled. "Let's all go back to bed," she added, looking at Rachel pointedly.

Brittany was back on her feet immediately, pulling Quinn up with her. She grabbed Rachel next, smiling as she helped her up. Santana stood up slowly on her own, following after the other girls as Brittany led them back towards her bedroom.

Santana stopped as the other three reached their collection of blankets and pillows on the floor. She smiled fondly as Brittany settled right in the middle. Quinn crawled under her blanket on Brittany's right and Rachel took her place on Brittany's left. She quickly gestured for Santana to join them, holding up the blanket under the guise of adjusting herself.

Brittany sniffled for a second, releasing a soft yawn. "G'night, you guys," she whispered.

"Night," Quinn muttered, pulling her blanket up over her head.

"Good night," Rachel said. The blankets surrounding her were soft and the bodies next to her were warm and Rachel felt sleep tugging at her consciousness. She hadn't properly slept in days and she felt herself start to drift off as soon as she was comfortable.

"You know I could start screaming right now and you would be the only one who would hear it," Santana told her after a few minutes. "Those two would sleep right through it."

Rachel's eyes shot opened and she glared at the other girl. She frowned.

Santana rolled on to her side, facing Rachel. "That used to be my spot, you know," she whispered. "Brittany slept in the middle, Quinn slept on the right, and I slept on the left."

Rachel's glare softened and her frown lessened. A smile played at her lips as she pictured three small girls huddled together in a double bed, one little blonde girl staking her claim in the center of everything.

"Sometimes, Britt would make _Lucy_ sleep in the middle, if she was really sad," Santana continued softly. "Brittany said sleeping in the middle made people happy because you got to have your friends all around you. And Lucy was kind of a downer, you know? Just like, really sad and shit."

Rachel turned to face Santana fully, glancing behind her at Brittany and Quinn to make sure they were asleep. "Did you ever sleep in the middle?" she asked as quietly as she could.

Santana shrugged. "Sometimes," she said honestly. "They're my best friends."

Rachel had to look away then. There it was again, the mention of that long history that Santana had with Brittany and Quinn. They had more years together, most sleepovers and shopping trips and games of pretend and make-believe and –

"You're like, kind of my friend," Santana added.

"Do you ever think about how different things might have been? Maybe you wouldn't hate me," Rachel sighed, more to herself than anything. She was suddenly very tired again.

"I don't hate you," Santana said immediately. Rachel looked at her in disbelief and she rolled her eyes. "Okay, sometimes I hate you," she muttered. "But I hate everybody."

"Is that supposed to –"

"I like you," Santana interrupted. "That's why I called you that night. Brittany said that I should just tell you, so there it is," she said. "I kind of like you. You're not that bad when you're not pissing me off."

"Thank you?" Rachel asked unsurely. She flushed.

Santana nodded firmly, smirking. It was the closest thing to an admission of fondness that Rachel would probably get from Santana. She took it greedily, wrapping it up in her other happy memories of Santana and saving it for a sad and rainy day. She figured that it might be all she was left with when everything was over.

Rachel stood up suddenly, stepping over the other girl's legs. She gestured for Santana to move into her place next to Brittany. Santana hesitated for a moment, so Rachel nudged her side sharply with her foot.

"Ow," Santana cried, swatting Rachel's leg as she moved closer to Brittany. She came to rest on her back, pulling Rachel's blanket over herself and holding it up, waiting for Rachel to lie beside her. "I take it back," she mumbled.

Rachel slid underneath the blanket and settled next to Santana, facing her. The legs brushed and Rachel closed her eyes, letting warmth linger in the space between their limbs and guide her back towards sleep. "Liar," she whispered good-naturedly.

She felt Santana shift for a moment and soft lips pressed against hers suddenly. They lingered for just a moment and then they were gone and Rachel wasn't sure they had ever been there in the first place.

"Thanks for trading spots with me," she heard Santana say quietly. "And for the other stuff, too."

Rachel shifted closer to Santana, finding her hand in the darkness. "You're welcome," she said.

Sleep found Rachel then and she welcomed it.

* * *

 _The grass sways around them gently. The man stays on the ground, watching the two small girls stare down at him. "So, what do you say?"_

" _What kind of wishes can you make come true?" Santana asks._

 _He smiles and they can see his teeth, bright and white and large. "The ones you want the most," he says. "_ Those _are the ones I can make come true."_

" _How?" Santana wonders instantly._

 _His grin widens._

" _Santana, can we go, please?" Rachel asks, tugging on her arm. The man makes her skin crawl and her limbs shake and she doesn't like the way her body feels. She feels cold, even though it's summer and the night is warm. "I want to go back now."_

 _The other girl shakes her head slightly, not even glancing at her. "Just wait a minute, Rachel. Let's just – let's just hear him out," Santana says._

 _There's a look on Santana's face, something desperate and determined and it makes Rachel uncomfortable. She remembered the tugging in her stomach that led her to this place and she wonders if it's reached her friend now._

 _He regards them with only casual interest as they speak. "Yes, Rachel," he says calmly. "At least hear me out. It will be worth it."_

 _The tugging in her middle is different now and it's trying to lead her away from this strange man and what he's saying. She wants to be back in their tent, lying next to Santana and listening to the crickets outside. They never should have left in the first place._

" _I don't know about this," she says._

 _Santana finally looks at her, twisting around to face her. "Let's just hear what he has to say. Our wish might come true and that would be awesome because then we could be together forever," she smiles, grabbing Rachel's hand. "Trust me?"_

 _And Rachel's a goner because she can never say no to those eyes and that smile and the warmth that flows through her arm when Santana takes her hand. She nods._

 _The man stands up. "Excellent."_


	13. Creator and Destroyer

_"Trickster is at one and the same time creator and destroyer, giver and negator, he who dupes others, and who is always duped himself. He wills nothing consciously. At all times he is constrained to behave as he does from impulses over which he has no control. He knows neither good nor evil yet he is responsible for both. He possesses no values, moral or social, is at the mercy of his passions and appetites, yet through his actions all values come into being."  
_ _Paul Radin, The Trickster_

Rachel was nowhere. Or maybe she was everywhere all at once. She was sleeping, tucked underneath a blanket with a dead girl and lying next to two other girls who could neither see nor hear said dead girl. And then suddenly, she wasn't anymore. At least, not as far as she could tell.

She felt nothing as she lay there, felt the weight of emptiness settling across her thighs and her arms. And when she opened her eyes, Rachel could see forever. Forever looked like floating colors, every single one of them glowing and twisting around her; it felt like she could reach out and touch the edge of the universe, twist her fingers through raw energy and feel it tingle all the way up her arms and into her shoulders.

Rachel was nowhere and nowhere felt like everywhere. And if she reached out, she could almost hold on to it, could almost grab it and let it pull across the vast expanse of nothing towards - well, she didn't know where it would pull her, but the important thing was that she get her hands on it. Rachel wanted to crawl up inside  _nowhere_  and stay there with the lights and the colors and the universe.

"Rachel?" she heard. Someone called out to her, their voice echoing through her mind slowly. Rachel reached out towards the voice and the person it belonged to, her fingers dancing out in front of her as she stretched her arm out. "Rachel?" she heard again, closer this time. She stretched out her arm as best she could, groaning slightly as she angled her body through the nothingness.

Her fingers brushed something warm and Rachel gasped. She opened her eyes and blinked slowly. She was panting heavily, lying cold and exhausted on the floor.

"Rachel?" she heard and this time she knew the voice. Santana was peering down at her, leaning on her elbow. Their blanket was pulled up underneath her arm, half of it covering her and the other half lying between them. Santana gripped the corner of it and threw it back over Rachel.

Rachel's fingers were resting on Santana's cheek. Her skin was warm and while Rachel didn't want to pull away, she made herself retreat, sliding away slightly as she tried to catch her breathe.

"You okay?"

Rachel blinked a couple of times, staring at the girl hovering over her. She nodded, letting her eyes refocus and adjust to the dark. "I'm fine. It was just a dream," she whispered.

It was still dark in Brittany's room, the only available light slipping in through the crack underneath the bedroom door. It was faint but it gave Rachel just enough light that she could see Santana staring at her suspiciously. Santana wiggled a little bit, shifting their blanket again. Brittany stirred behind her for a moment before she settled again.

"Have you been sleeping?" Rachel wondered, muttering softly.

Santana shook her head. "Nah, I tried, but it didn't work," she said. "I've just been -" she paused for a moment, turning her head and glancing back at Brittany and Quinn. "I've just been laying here."

Rachel said nothing for a long moment, settling back against the pillow they were sharing and closing her eyes. There was nothing  _for_  her to say, not really, so she decided to let the moment pass. There was something like jealousy in her stomach, wriggling around her insides and trying to make her think about Santana watching only Quinn and Brittany sleep. Rachel took a deep breathe and tried to ignore it.

"I don't think we should stay here," Santana said. She was still leaning on her elbow over Rachel and when Rachel opened her eyes, Santana was so close that Rachel could practically feel her breathe tickling her cheeks. She could see the circles around Santana's eyes, dark and deep.

"Why? Where would we go?" Rachel whispered.

"I don't know," Santana replied. She nodded her head at Quinn and Brittany. "I just don't want that guy to mess with them, you know? It would be really shitty if he got our friends, too. I don't want them to be involved."

Rachel nodded absently, rubbing at her eyes. "Can we just - can I just sleep for a little while longer? And then we can go wherever you think we should go. I just need to rest first."

"Okay," Santana said, sliding back down to the floor and laying her head down next to Rachel's.

Rachel slid her eyes closed again, exhaling. She felt Santana shift on to her side and assumed that Santana had returned to her vigil over Brittany and Quinn. Jealousy tried to bubble inside her again, but she pressed her lips together and held it down.

There was warm breathe tickling her cheeks again and a hand took hers and this time, Rachel knew that Santana was watching  _her_ , too. Santana's fingers swept over hers and she slept.

* * *

 _Rachel's nervous. The man sitting before them is kind of scary. He's all big smiles and bright eyes, but they feel false to her; they feel like fake smiles and they make her skin tingle. She's sure that if anyone can spot fake emotions, it's an aspiring actress._

 _She doesn't like him, not at all. When she looks at Santana, the other girl looks star-struck, like she's just been given the biggest and shiniest Christmas present ever, lights shimmering off of it and reflecting in Santana's wide eyes._

 _Santana asks her to trust her, and Rachel's never even thought twice about trusting her best friend. Santana gets her into trouble sometimes by keeping her out late or by encouraging her to make a big mess of things, but Rachel always trusts Santana. When she has no one else, she knows that she has Santana and she knows that Santana will take care of her._

 _Rachel would be happy just being with Santana forever and she knows that Santana wants that, too. They wished on that shooting star together and the thought that maybe their wish can come true makes her tummy flip._

 _Santana takes her hand and she squeezes it._

" _Excellent," the man says, standing up and brushing the grass off of his pants. He grins down at them and Rachel's stomach flips for different reason. "Now, let's talk about your wishes," he says. His limbs are long and his face is thin and gaunt and when he smiles, she can see his cheekbones pressing against the inside of his skin._

 _The man rubs his hands together for a moment. "Alright –"_

" _You said you weren't a stranger," Rachel interrupts. "But I don't recognize you. What's your name?"_

 _His smile falters for only a moment. "I don't have a name, Rachel, but rest assured that you know me. After all, how else would I know your name?"_

" _Maybe you heard us talking," she tries, frowning. "Maybe you've been following us around. What do you mean you don't have a name? Everyone has a name."_

 _He chuckles for a moment. "I'm not everyone," he says. "I don't need a name. I've been here all along."_

 _The man takes a step closer to them and Rachel backs away, clinging to Santana's hand and stepping behind her. Santana has said nothing and Rachel's starting to worry. Santana_ always _has something to say, even when she isn't supposed to._

" _You don't have to be afraid of me," he says. His voice is soft and smooth and Rachel can feel it wrapping around her. It slides into her ears and slips around her limbs and she feels better all of a sudden. She feels light and calm. "I'm here to help you."_

 _In front of her, Santana nods. When he reaches out a hand, Santana takes it immediately. He holds out his other hand to Rachel and she hesitates for a moment. Santana looks at her, finally meeting her eyes. Rachel is light and calm and Santana smiles at her and so she takes his outstretched hand before she can stop herself._

" _Good girl," he says, smiling. She looks up at him and his eyes are bright, like stars on a cloudless night or the full moon at midnight. Rachel knows the stars. She stares at them out her window every night and she makes wishes on them and she feels like she knows them. And in that moment, she feels like she knows him._

* * *

Rachel woke up to a persistent tapping against her leg. She groaned and tried to ignore it, but it continued until she had no choice but to open her eyes. Santana was lying next to her, nudging her leg continually.

"Are you up now?" Santana asked. She didn't try to feign nonchalance; she merely continued to press her leg against Rachel's. "If you're awake, can we leave?"

Rachel jerked her leg away from Santana. "Stop that," she muttered.

Santana smirked.

"What time is it?" she whispered. The room was lighter now, the sky outside a mute grey instead of black. Brittany and Quinn slept silently.

"Dunno," Santana said, pushing the blanket off of herself and standing up. "I just - I don't know. I have a bad feeling and I think we should leave now."

Rachel sat up slowly. "You have a bad feeling? Santana, I haven't properly slept in days. Can your bad feeling just wait a little while?"

Santana slid Brittany's closet door open, digging around through several pairs of shoes until she pulled out some worn sneakers and slid them on her feet. "It just - shit, it makes me nervous, okay?" she muttered. "I told you, I don't want Brittany and Quinn to get mixed up in all this bullshit."

Rachel reached up to smooth down some of her hair. "Maybe I should tell them the truth," she suggested. "They might believe me. Perhaps they can be of some assistance."

"No way," Santana said immediately, grabbing Rachel's duffel bag. She zipped it shut.

"They're our friends," Rachel said. "They're  _your_  friends. I didn't want to tell them before because I didn't want them to believe that I'm crazy, but the more I think about it, the more I think that it might be incredibly useful to have some people on our side, some  _living_ people."

"That's exactly why you shouldn't tell them. They're our friends and that guy could seriously fuck them up," Santana shot back. "It's you and me, Rachel, and it's been that way since this whole thing started. It's not about Quinn and it's not about Brittany; it's about  _us_. So put your goddamn shoes on and meet me downstairs. I'll find you a fucking banana to eat or something."

Rachel nodded mutely. She quickly found her shoes and grabbed the duffel bag Santana had zipped up for her. She eyed Brittany for a moment and frowned. They didn't have to know everything that was going on, but they should at least know that Rachel was leaving so that they wouldn't worry.

She sunk down to her knees and brushed Brittany's hair out of her face. "Brittany?" she whispered.

Brittany groaned and shook her head. "Huh? What happened? Is't time to get up?"

Rachel shushed her. "No, Brittany. My dads called and I have to go home," she lied. "I just wanted to inform you that I was leaving so that you didn't worry when you woke up and I was gone."

Brittany kept her eyes closed and nodded slowly. "Mm'kay. See ya later, Rachel," she mumbled, slipping back into sleep.

"I hope so," Rachel said, standing back up and slipping out of the room as quietly as she could.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Santana was standing against the front door. Sure enough, she was holding a banana. Santana smirked at her as she handed it to Rachel and slipped a jacket on.

"That's not the coat I gave you," Rachel noted.

"This one's Brittany's," Santana answered. She opened the door and gestured for Rachel to walk out. She locked the door behind them and twisted to door handle a few times to make sure that the door really was secure. "Yours ripped. Plus, it was kinda short on me."

"That won't keep him out," Rachel told her, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

The sky had yet to lighten and the sun still hadn't properly come out. The morning was grey and washed-out; frost clung to the tips of the grass in the yard. Rachel could see her breathe blow out in front of her like smoke every time she exhaled.

Santana led her down the concrete path that ran adjacent to the bushes in front of the house. She paused for a moment at the sidewalk before turning left, Rachel trailing after her.

"Where are we going?" Rachel asked after a few moments. Her duffel bag bumped against her hip with every step that she took and she was sure that it was going to leave a bruise.

Santana shrugged. "Your house? I don't know," she frowned.

Rachel shook her head for a moment. "You forced me out of bed in order to lead me out into the cold and you have no idea where we should go?"

"Technically, you weren't in a bed," Santana answered.

"Santana, you know what I meant," Rachel said. She peeled the banana she had been given and took a bite.

"Let's just go to your house, Rachel. You can go back to bed when we get there, alright?"

Rachel said nothing, turning a corner and marching out in front of Santana. She ate and they walked in silence for a few minutes. She was cold and frustrated and the silence felt complementary to the way she felt.

"I know what you mean about having a bad feeling," she eventually said. "I've had that feeling for a while now."

Rachel slowed down her pace slightly and waited for Santana to come next to her. "It always feels like something horrible is about to happen," she added.

"It's fucked up," Santana agreed. "I just feel weird, you know?"

Rachel nodded. "It's like something's pressing against you," she supplied. "You feel so full of dread and anticipation because surely something is going to happen soon and all you can do is stand there and wait for it to get you. You feel like it's always there and like you're powerless to stop it."

"Yeah, pretty much," Santana grinned. "Not in so many words, though."

Rachel couldn't help but grin back. "I am a diva," she said, "and as such, I often feel things very intensely and with a level of conscientiousness unparalleled by others."

"Do you get off on using that many words or what?" Santana asked.

Rachel scoffed and felt Santana nudge her. She glanced over to see the other girl smirking at her. It felt kind of nice, she decided, to be teased by Santana with friendship instead of malice. Rachel wondered what her therapist might say if she told her that she was friends with a dead girl (more than friends, perhaps.)

"Santana, why did you kiss me?" she blurted out suddenly.

Santana sputtered for a moment, her mouth opening and closing a couple of times. "What do you mean, why did I kiss you?" she muttered. "I told you last night: I like you or whatever."

"As a friend?" Rachel prompted. There was something in her stomach again, jealousy and a tightness that longed for answers.

Santana shrugged, the smile slipping from her face. "Well, yeah, I guess."

"You guess? I don't generally go around kissing people that I would consider to be mere friends."

Santana slid her hands into the pockets of the jacket she wore. "I dunno," she started, frowning when Rachel shot her a look in disbelief. She sighed. "Sometimes, I think it would be cool to kiss you. Or like, there are times when you look really hot and I think it be kind of awesome if we made out. Or maybe we could go to Breadstix and _then_  make out, because those are like, two of my favorite things to do."

Rachel paused, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and grabbing Santana's upper arm to halt her progress. "You - you want to go to Breadstix with me? On a date?"

Santana shrugged, her eyes shifting across the trees and the yards around them. "If it gets me closer to making out with you."

Rachel huffed again, crossing her arms over her chest.

Santana looked at her finally, meeting her eyes. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "Look, Finn sucks, okay? He's super tall and kind of dumb. Puck's still hung up on his baby mama and their lizard child. St. James is M.I.A."

"Be that as it may, I -"

Santana held up her hand. "I can get you bling," she interrupted. "My dad's a doctor and he makes good money. I can get you bling and we can sing awesome duets. I – I figured out how to make vegan cookies," she said quickly. "My sweet lady kisses are the best and I'm a damn good cuddler."

"So you do want to date me?" Rachel said, slightly dumbstruck. "And you want to cuddle?"

"Have you been listening? That's what I said: dinner and second base," Santana said. "Assuming we get out of this shit," she added.

Rachel laughed slightly. She felt herself blushing and was grateful that it was chilly enough that if prompted, she could blame the pinkness across her cheeks on the fact that she was cold. She held out her hand and waited for Santana to take it. "It- it's a date," she said, grinning. "We'll see about the second base part."

Santana smirked. "Yeah, we will."

They resumed their walk, their hands laced together between them. She had been very cold for the last several days and Santana's hand was warm in hers, a fact for which she was incredibly grateful. Rachel let herself lean a little closer to Santana.

"I still remember all our constellations," Santana said after a moment. When Rachel looked at her, she continued, "I remember how we used to look up at the stars and make up our own constellations because we didn't know any."

"We used to sneak out to my backyard and lie in the grass together," Rachel added.

Santana nodded. "You said that you loved the stars because you were gonna be one when you grew up. You said they were beautiful and that you hoped that you could be like that one day."

"And you said that I already was," Rachel said. "You were a very sweet child, Santana."

Santana scowled. "I was a bad-ass," she shot back. "I'm pretty sure that's what got us in this shit, though. I think I'm the one that fucked us up."

"Even though I can't quite remember -"

"Brava," said a voice behind them. Someone clapped slowly. "You're finally starting to realize what you've done. It's taken you much longer than I expected."

"Shit," Santana muttered. They both turned and  _he_ was standing there, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Language, Miss Lopez," he said.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Santana spat. "You're gonna get on to me for my language? You keep fucking around with us, and for what? What's the fucking point?"

He sighed heavily, brushing his fingers over the lapels of his jacket.

"I'm tired of this shit. Why don't you just fucking tell us what you want instead of jerking us around?" Santana cried.

"Santana," Rachel warned, gripping Santana's hand tightly as she stared at the man. He was the cause of everything wrong in their lives and the last thing they needed was to anger him.

"Where's the fun in that?" he grinned. "You see, we made a deal, and even though you have refused to honor it several times, I've decided that I'm still going to have an enjoyable time.  _I_  might as well enjoy myself."

Santana shouted in Spanish, jumping towards him. "You fucking -"

Rachel wrapped her arms around Santana's waist, groaning and pulling as hard as she could. She hadn't been on this side of Santana yelling and trying to fight and she didn't know if she had the strength to hold the other girl back. She wasn't entirely sure that really wanted to, either.

"What kind of deal?" Rachel croaked, gripping Santana's waist until she stopped swinging her arms around and trying to charge at the man across from them. "You said that we made a deal and yesterday you told me that Santana's supposed to be dead. And I've already seen myself, wandering around as a dead little girl. What does that have to do with some kind of deal?"

"Oh, that's right," he sneered. "You don't remember," he spat mockingly. "At least you had the good grace to ask nicely. I'll let you in on a secret: the little girl's just for show. I thought it might be fun for you to see yourself as you're going to be: dead."

Rachel's arms were still wrapped around Santana and her cheek was resting against Santana's back. She blinked and when she looked around them, she saw only grass. The sidewalks and the houses and the nice suburban streets with the nice suburban lawns were gone, replaced with dirt and grass so tall that it almost reached Rachel's shoulders. It was nighttime now instead of the dull grey of early morning. Rachel shivered, colder still than she had been before.

The stars were bright, shining down in a number greater than Rachel had seen in many years. They twinkled above them and if she squinted, she could almost convince herself that they were really right in front of her, that she was swirling through the heavens towards something bigger than either she or Santana would ever be.

Santana started walking, scowling as she pulled Rachel from behind her. They walked instinctually towards the very center of the grass field they were in and after a moment, Rachel could see them – a young her and a young Santana and the very same man who haunted their steps now. She could see them and she could remember.

That feeling of something weighing her down grew even greater.

* * *

 _His hand is large, covering her small one completely until she can't even see her fingers anymore. His palms are sweaty as he leads them further into the clearing they had been lying in. When he lets them go, Rachel wipes her hand on her pants and grabs Santana's hand again, threading their fingers together._

 _Santana is still in awe of the man as she stares at him. Rachel squeezes her hand until Santana_ finally _looks at her, her eyes shining with happiness. Rachel doesn't understand but she's never seen Santana so content and so she decides to just wait and see what happens. She thinks about her wish again and her stomach bubbles inside her until lightness fills her again._

" _Why don't you start by telling me your wish?" the man says. "Tell me what it is that you want the most."_

 _He looks at Santana first and she turns away from Rachel to face him again. She clears her throat and slides until she's closer to Rachel, their knees and shoulders touching. "My wish is that Rachel and I can be together forever. I already wished on the star, though."_

 _He grinned. "That you did," he said, looking at Rachel. "And you, Rachel? Is that also your wish?"_

 _Santana's fingers are warm as they hold hands and Rachel looks over at her best friend. Sometimes, when she looks at Santana, she feels kind of funny inside; her limbs tingle and her stomach dances and her heart beats really fast. And Rachel really likes that funny feeling. She looks at the man again and nods._

" _You have to say it," he says gently. His smile widens impossibly._

" _I," she stutters for a moment. "I wish Santana and I could be together forever," she says, feeling strange as she does so._

" _What if I told you both that I could make this happen? That I could make sure that you both would be together forever?"_

 _Rachel considers him for a moment, her eyes wide. She wants to ask him how he could do such a thing and why, wants him to explain where he came from and what he wants._

 _Santana speaks first. "How?"_

" _All you have to do is make a deal with me. If you agree and then hold up your end of the bargain, then you and Rachel can be together forever."_

" _What kind of deal?" Rachel asks, her brows furrowing._

 _Santana frowns. "We don't have anything," she says._

" _But you do have something. And I want it," he says quickly. He runs his fingers across his thighs for a moment, taking a deep breathe. "You need not concern yourself with what it is right now. But one day, I will come to you and I will take it. If you agree, then I shall grant your wish. It's that simple."_

 _Rachel doesn't like it. She doesn't like this man and she doesn't like what he has to say. Yet she still feels kind of calm looking into his eyes. Her head is worried but her heart is peaceful and she doesn't know what to make of her feelings._

" _So what do you say?" he asks. He continues to smile down at them, his eyes soft and inviting._

 _Rachel says nothing for a second and before she can stop her, Santana reaches out and shakes his hand._

" _Deal," she says._

* * *

Rachel's felt her heart drop, her suspicions confirmed.  _They_ had done this; she and Santana had basically agreed to everything that had happened. She looked over at Santana, her eyes wide and her mouth open in surprise. When she turned back, the clearing was empty and the young versions of them were gone.

The man was there with them again, wrapping his arms around both of their shoulders. "So you see,  _you_  started this. I merely came for my end of our bargain, which you agreed to. It's not my fault that you wouldn't die," he said simply.

Rachel shrugged off his arm, sliding away from him and pulling Santana with her. Santana was scowling, glaring at him with more anger than Rachel had ever seen (and Rachel had seen Santana angry quite often.) A wind blew and Rachel shivered, taking Santana's hand and seeking the warmth she had come to associate with the other girl.

"You wanted to kill me? That's what our end of the deal was?" Santana spat. "How the hell were you going to keep us together forever if you kept killing me?"

"I lied," he shrugged, beaming at them. "Mostly, I just wanted to kill you," he said, his voice bright and full of mirth. "And then you kept coming back to life and I thought to myself, 'Well, that's perfectly fine because it means that I can just keep killing her.'"

Santana was ready to start throwing punches and cursing in Spanish that Rachel couldn't understand, but Rachel squeezed her hand before she could. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," she said plainly.

He nodded, still grinning. "Yes, it is quite ridiculous," he agreed. "It's so ridiculous that I've grown tired of your games. Whatever connection that lingers between the two of you is actually starting to annoy me and so I've decided that the best way to do this is to just kill both of you," he laughs, his voice rising in pitch and cracking slightly. "Doesn't that sound like a smart idea? I must admit that I was rather proud when the idea struck me."

"That's seriously fucked up," Santana growled.

"And that, my dear, is life," he answered. He clapped his hands. "Now, who wants to go first? Oh, listen to me, talking like there's a choice."

Rachel did the only thing she could think to do: she ran. She held on tightly to Santana's hand and pulled her along until she ran, too. She briefly considered that they had spent an unbearable amount of time trying to run. At least they were consistent.

"Fuck," Santana cried out from behind her. Rachel gripped Santana's hand even tighter. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Rachel knew that they didn't have anywhere to go. She was absolutely freezing and overcome by the fact that this man, this horrible terrible man, was actually enjoying himself as he continued to play with them. All they could do, all they had ever been able to do, was run together and hope for the best.

Where had they gone wrong? she wondered.

Santana pushed ahead of her, her height and the athleticism that came from being a cheerleader spurring her on until she passed Rachel. "What are we gonna do?" she panted.

Rachel shook her head, darting into the trees as they finally reached the forest. Their progress was slower now and Rachel could feel herself growing more tired as she tried to run. She hadn't slept properly in days and she could feel the exhaustion creeping into her legs and her stomach.

Rachel could feel her body protesting her every move and she had to stop, ducking behind the nearest tree and pulling Santana with her. She bent over at the waist, her vision swimming as the world around her blurred.

"Rachel, we don't have time to stop," Santana cried, clutching her stomach. "We have to keep going."

"There's something I probably should have mentioned," they heard. The man was yelling and his voice sounded far away. Or maybe that was due to Rachel's inability to focus. She wasn't sure anymore.

"I've decided," he continued, his voice growing steadily louder, "to take Rachel's life and give it to Santana. Rachel will die first and then Santana will be alive again. Then when you're alive again, I'll snap your fucking neck," he snarled.

Santana swore, muttering to herself for a second. She grabbed at Rachel, pulling on her arm. "Shit, come on, Rachel. We can't stop, okay?"

Rachel shook her head again. She remembered seeing herself as a dead little girl, remembered seeing Santana as a dead teenager, remembered watching this man cart away her best friend when she was only ten years old. All they did was run, but he was always there.

Rachel understood what was happening: she was dying. The cold, the exhaustion – they were all a part of it. He was slowly claiming her while he drove them to the brink and forced them to flee.

"Try your hardest, but you can't run away from life. You can't run away from death, either," he called out.

Santana tried to pull her away from the tree, but she leaned against it heavily, grabbing Santana's hips and steadying herself. "I have an idea," she said quickly. She was still breathing heavily and the bark of the tree was rough against her back. Rachel's head pounded and her heart felt full. Rachel was cold; she was always cold.

Santana's body, meanwhile, was warm as she held on to it. She was panting as she peeked out from around the tree they were leaning against. "Does this plan involve more than just running out in the middle of the woods? Because we could really use a better plan right now."

Rachel eyed her for a moment. Santana looked so much better than she had before, her skin having regained much of its natural color and the dark circles around her eyes having retreated almost completely. She was no longer the ashen grey color of death. Rachel was dying and Santana was  _almost_  alive.

"Trust me?"

Santana stared at her for a moment before she nodded slowly. "Yeah, I trust you," she said. "I mean, I don't have a choice right? It's just you and me, remember?"

Rachel nodded. She smiled at Santana gently. "Exactly," she replied. "We have a connection, Santana. And we always have, ever since we were children. That's why you've never been able to die. Every time he's killed you, you've come back to me."

Santana nodded, ducking her head and peeking out from behind the tree again. "Yeah, that's one way to put it, I guess."

"You need to let him kill you," Rachel said bluntly.

"What?" Santana hissed, pulling away from Rachel slightly. "Are you smoking crack? The whole point is to not die."

"No, listen," Rachel said quickly. Her legs started to tingle uncomfortably and her entire body felt like it was being pulled down. "He can't kill you if you're already dead. He said he won't kill you until you're alive again," she continued. "He could have gotten you before tonight; he could have come to the cemetery and killed you any time."

"He just wanted to fuck with us," Santana said just as quickly.

Rachel grabbed Santana's hands, sliding her fingers across her knuckles and gripping her wrists. "I'm dying, Santana," she murmured. "I'm standing here now and I'm dying. You said you trusted me."

"I do, but –"

"Santana, you can't kill something that's not even alive. Life doesn't work that way," Rachel said firmly.

"How do you know? What if I just die permanently?" Santana asked quietly. She exhaled, her chest rising and falling heavily.

"Then we were doomed from the start regardless," Rachel replied. Her body shuddered for a moment and she slid down the tree slightly. "I'm going to lie here and play dead. It will be good practice for my acting career," she replied, trying to stop the feeling of dread resting inside her heart.

"Then what happens?"

Rachel's knees buckled and she fell to the ground, crying out. Santana's hands wrapped around her waist as she kneeled down with Rachel. The leaves beneath them were wet and they soaked through Rachel's pants, making her knees go numb from the cold. She blinked for a moment, struggling to open her eyes again.

"When he decides that I'm dead, you can come out of the trees. Let him kill you," Rachel said, her voice shaking. "Let him kill you and I'll bring you back again. That's what I do; I bring you back."

"You really think this will work?"

Rachel nodded.

"I trust you," Santana said.

Stars flared up in Rachel's eyes, shining down through the trees and floating in front of her. They caught in Santana's eyes and in the trees and Rachel was sure that if she reached out, she would be able to touch them. She closed her eyes and tried to stop her head from swimming

Fingers brushed across her cheeks, ghosting over her cheekbones and into her hair. They were hot and comforting against her skin.

Santana kissed her then, pressed their lips together like she always had. Her lips were warm against Rachel's, soft and full and better than they had ever been. Rachel's fingers slid across Santana's hips and she dug them into her sides for a moment.

Rachel heard leaves crunching nearby and she pulled away. "There's not much time. You have to go," she whispered.

Santana nodded, surging forward for a moment to kiss Rachel again, letting her lips linger and her palms hold on to Rachel's cheeks. "I trust you," she repeated. "You still owe me dinner and second base."

Rachel nodded. Her eyes were sill closed and she leaned back again, dropping her hands into her lap. She heard footsteps now, creeping close to her. She held her breathe, letting her body go slack. Playing dead is easy when one is already dying, she thought to herself. She felt the cold slide out of her limbs and creep into her lungs and through her insides. Rachel felt it tug at her heart and up through her neck towards her brain.

She heard sounds, heard leaves and rocks being kicked. But they were far away (or perhaps they were close.) There were voices, someone was speaking. The last thing she heard as she finally let go was yelling, familiar screams echoing in her ears and begging for her to make it stop.

And then Rachel was nowhere. She was nowhere and she was everywhere all at once.


	14. Where We Started

_We shall not cease from exploration  
_ _And the end of all our exploring  
_ _Will be to arrive where we started  
_ _And know the place for the first time.  
_ _T.S. Eliot,_ "Little Gidding"

A star shot over them and Rachel nudged Santana's leg, pointing upwards. "Make a wish," she said.

Santana thought for a moment, her nose crinkling. "I wish that me and Rachel can be together forever," she eventually settled on, turning her head in the grass to look over at her best friend. It was kind of a cheesy wish, but she knew that Rachel liked those kinds of things. (And maybe she really did think it would be okay if that wish came true.)

"You go," Santana whispered. She turned away to look back up at the sky.

"I wish," Rachel started, pausing for a moment. "I wish that Santana's wish comes true," she giggled, twisting in the grass to lie on her side. She wrapped an arm around Santana's waist and leaned against her shoulder.

"Hey," Santana muttered. "You just wasted a wish."

Rachel shifted against her, finding Santana's hand with her free one and gripping it tightly. "No, I didn't."

"But you like, just wished for the same thing I did."

Rachel nodded against her shoulder. "Well, you took the one I was gonna say," she said. "And now that we've both wished for it, it  _has_  to come true."

A smile came across Santana's face and she was unable to stop it. "Hopefully," she admitted.

Rachel smiled and she felt like it was enough. The wind blew through the grass, brown and green blades shifting and swaying around them. The stars twinkled over them and she was sure that they were twinkling around her, too. They were shining in the sky and in the grass and she could practically feel them. And she was happy.

She shifted again, tightening her hold on Santana.  _Hopefully_ , she thought to herself.

* * *

They were content to lie in the grass for as long as they could. Santana connected stars together with her free hand, tracing her fingers across the sky in letters and shapes that she knew Rachel would like.

Rachel sighed, watching Santana map out a squirrel (well she was calling it a squirrel, anyway.) The stars were around them and they were perfect, shining and glowing. They were everywhere and Rachel never wanted to leave them. She was going to be one of those one day - a star. She was going to shine bright and beautiful and make people feel the way she felt in that moment, lying next to Santana in the grass while the universe was all around them.

"We should go back," she said eventually, interrupting Santana's attempt at piecing stars together into a puppy. "I don't wanna get in trouble."

Santana frowned. "Wait, I got one more," she said, raising their joined hands. She tilted her head until it lightly hit Rachel's and traced their fingers out above them, carefully drawing out a star with five points. "That one was you," she grinned. "'Cause you said," she stuttered for a moment, "you wanna be a star and stuff."

Rachel matched her grin. "You're really sweet," she blushed. "And kinda cheesy."

Santana looked away, tilting her head and glancing at the grass next to them. "Whatever," she rolled her eyes. "You like that stuff."

Rachel's knee bumped against hers and she pushed Santana's foot with her own. Rachel rolled over on to her side and leaned down, kissing Santana's cheek lightly. "I like _you_ ," she said. "You're my best friend."

Santana said nothing as Rachel pulled her up and led her back into the trees. Fireflies danced around them, or they might have been stars – she wasn't sure anymore. Rachel held her hand the entire way, carefully maneuvering them over branches and rocks, while Santana just smiled and let Rachel lead her.

She would never admit it, but she would probably follow Rachel anywhere.

* * *

Santana's pants were covered in dirt, ripped at the knee and stained with grass. She was sitting down sipping on a juice box, letting the slide above them block out the hot sun. She held it out and offered some to Rachel, who took it gratefully. Santana wiped the sweat from her forehead, wrinkling her nose.

It was another unbearable hot summer day spent outside at the park and Santana wanted nothing more than to stay hidden under the slide for the rest of the afternoon. She knew they couldn't though, not when there were still games to be played. Rachel was her best friend and Santana didn't mind putting up with the heat and dirt if it meant she got to spend more time with the other girl.

Rachel pushed the hair out of her face, trying to smooth it down before giving up. It was too hot to try so hard to fix something she didn't care about. She tilted her feet as they stretched out in front of her, bumping them against Santana's feet. "Hey, Santana?"

"Yeah?"

Rachel paused, glancing over at her friend. Santana always looked so pretty, she thought, her long dark hair resting halfway down her back, slicking up in a few odd places because of the heat and their playing, her big dark eyes that always stared at Rachel like she was important and awesome. She always made Rachel feel like that - like she meant something and like she was great, even at those times when she thought she wasn't either of these things.

"What is it?" Santana asked.

Rachel leaned forward quickly, pushing her lips against Santana's for a brief second like she saw her daddies do every night before bed. She pouted her lips and kissed Santana just for a moment before she pulled back, giggling. Santana's lips tasted like juice and like something else Rachel couldn't identify.

Santana's eyes were wide, which made Rachel giggle even more. Santana always made that face when Rachel kissed her and she thought it was adorable and silly. She nudged Santana with her elbow. "Now you have to marry me," Rachel said.

Santana sputtered for a second. "What? Says who?"

"Says everybody," Rachel told her, nodding smartly. "You only kiss people you're going to marry, like how my daddies kiss or your mommy and daddy kiss," she continued. "And now we kissed so you gotta marry me when we grow up."

Santana grinned, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. "Well what if I don't wanna marry you?"

Rachel shrugged, still giggling. "Well too bad cause we already kissed, so I guess you're stuck with me."

Santana sipped at her juice box, rolling her shoulders back and smiling, her lips curling around the end of her straw. "Yeah, okay. That wouldn't be so bad, I guess."

Rachel just smiled and tugged her out into the hot sun towards the swings.

* * *

"Five more minutes," Rachel muttered, pulling her blanket up over her head.

The rapid tapping continued and Rachel opened her eyes slowly, peeking out through her comforter. It was still dark and definitely too early for her fathers to be waking her up for school. There was a moment of silence and then the tapping resumed. It was coming from her window.

Rachel rose slowly, sliding out of bed and shivering as her bare feet his the wooden paneling on the floor. Her room was cold for it to be only August. She stretched her arms out over her head, opening the window cautiously and glancing outside.

"Santana?"

Sure enough, Santana was sitting in the tree outside her window. She had on a grey tank top and matching shorts, her hair slightly messy as she clung to a branch.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asked, pulling the window open.

Santana held out her hand, wiggling her fingers at Rachel until she took it. She slid across the branch she was sitting on and put her foot on the windowsill. "Hold on to me," she instructed, her voice rough and scratchy.

Rachel nodded quickly, gripping Santana's arm with her other hand and pulling as Santana stepped on to her windowsill completely and ducked down, finally getting into Rachel's room. She exhaled deeply.

"Are you okay? What's going on?" Rachel asked, keeping Santana's hand in hers.

Santana nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay," she said. It was a lie and Rachel could see it written all over Santana's face. If she was really okay, she wouldn't be climbing into Rachel's bedroom in the middle of the night "Can I stay here?"

"We have school tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know, but I'll be gone before your dads get up, okay? You won't get in trouble or anything," Santana rushed out, whispering. She squeezed Rachel's hand. "Please."

"Of course you can stay," Rachel whispered, guiding Santana to the bed and slipping under her blanket. She held it up and waited until Santana slid in beside her, their hands still clasped. "Are you wearing shoes?"

Santana shook her head and said nothing, shifting for a moment. She let go of Rachel's hand, rolling on to her side to face Rachel. She pulled her arms up to her body and rested her hands flat against the bed, putting her cheek on them. She stared at Rachel, her eyes taking in Rachel's face, her bright eyes and her soft smile.

There was no blood, no pain. She wasn't injured, lying on a sidewalk and bleeding, screaming for help and because everything hurt and because she was dying. She wasn't looking at Santana with scorn and hatred and blame; she was just staring back at Santana, mirroring her position in bed. Rachel was fine. It was just a stupid dream, she told herself, nodding slightly. Rachel was alive and well.

"You can tell me, you know," Rachel whispered. "If you want to."

"Yeah, I know," Santana replied, pushing closer to Rachel until she felt their legs bump. Rachel felt kind of cold and Santana closed the gap between them, closing her eyes until she heard Rachel sigh. A few moments passed and Santana heard Rachel's breathing even out as she slipped back to sleep, snoring lightly.

Santana opened her eyes again, checking over Rachel again quickly. She put an arm over Rachel's waist because that's what she always saw people do in bed and because that's how she usually slept with Rachel, with their limbs all tangled up and wrapped around one another until she wasn't sure where Rachel's ugly nightgowns stopped and her regular clothes started.

"I'm here," Santana whispered softly.

* * *

She was running, pumping her legs as hard as she could, her hair flying out behind her. Her calf muscles burned and protested against the movement but Santana kept running anyway. There was motion all around her. She could feel it pushing the air towards her, pressure building up around her body and in her lungs as she tried to keep breathing. It was hot and humid, the moisture in the air sticking to her skin, clinging to her forehead and her cheeks and her neck, which was ridiculous because it wasn't summer anymore.

Someone was speaking, whispering in her ear, their breath like steam as it blew across her earlobe and cheek.

The movement caught up with her, fingertips brushing against her arms and the backs of her knees and her shoulders. The pressure in the air built up and Santana struggled to breathe, gasping as it caught up to her and wrapped itself around her.

Santana fell, the hands pushing at her body until she landed. The earth was cold, freezing. There was snow on her face and in her hair and Santana could breathe again, choking in air and tasting the dirt and the cold of the snow she had landed in.

She heard giggling and rolled over, sitting up to stare at the person who had attacked her. Rachel's hair was in braided pigtails that came down past her shoulders and she was wearing Santana's hat on her head. She was holding a fresh snowball in her hands and beaming, red gloves on her hand and her coat swinging down near her knees.

"I got you," Rachel laughed. "You didn't even see me!"

Santana glanced around quickly, standing up and brushing the snow off of her jacket. When had she gone outside? When had it become the afternoon? She didn't even remember waking up, let alone walking all the way to Rachel's street.

Rachel was still smiling. "I'm gonna get you," she giggled.

Santana frowned, burying her hands in her pockets. Maybe she had been sleep-walking. A carefully aimed snowball hit her in the chest and she gasped as snow spread out over her coat and stung her neck. "Hey!" she cried, wiping her coat.

Rachel groaned. "Come on, San," she said. "You're supposed to throw a snowball back. That's how a snowball fight works."

"I know how it works," Santana sneered. "Who said I  _wanted_  to have a snowball fight?"

"You-you don't want to play with me?" Rachel frowned, twisting one of her pigtails between her fingers.

"It's not that, I just -"

"No, it's okay," Rachel interrupted. "I understand," she said, turning on her heels and starting down the sidewalk. Her head was down and her toes scuffed at the ground.

Santana sighed, reaching down and picking up some snow and shaping it into a ball in her hands. She didn't have gloves and her palms immediately turned red from the cold. She aimed carefully, narrowing her eyes as she threw the snowball she had made. It smacked Rachel in the back of the head, the force and surprise causing Rachel to pitch forward into the snow. Santana laughed.

"I got you back!" she shouted, crossing her arms.

Rachel jumped up, giggling and reaching over to grab more snow. She ran at Santana, laughing loudly as she hurled snow at Santana, who jumped out the way and threw a fresh snowball at Rachel, catching her in the side. She grabbed another one and chased Rachel through the neighborhood, stomping through the untouched lawns of various houses and grabbing all of the snow she could.

Rachel darted behind a tree and when Santana caught up to her, snowball at the ready, Rachel had her arms full of snowballs and a wicked grin on her face. She laughed lowly, staring at Santana as menacingly as she could.

"Okay, I think -" Santana stuttered, eyes widening. "I think we're good. We played enough, don'tcha think?"

Rachel shook her head, still smiling widely.

Santana backed away. "You had all of those ready, didn't you?" she asked. "You tricked me."

"It's not my fault that you're so easy to trick," Rachel smiled, taking a few steps of her own and closing the distance between them.

Santana made a break for it, spinning around and taking off as fast as she could. Rachel caught her anyway, pelting her with snowballs to the back of the head and to the legs as Santana both laughed and cursed in Spanish. She could hear Rachel giggling as she pursued Santana and she thought about spinning around and fighting back but she didn't mind letting Rachel win if it meant that she kept laughing like that - a bit breathless but full of joy and pride.

She ran back across the yards she had come from, stopping only when snow stopped hitting her and she didn't hear Rachel's laughter echoing in her ears anymore. Santana was covered in wet slush and it was starting to seep through her sleeves and the jeans she was wearing. She couldn't feel her hands anymore, even as she flexed her fingers and spun around to see if Rachel was done playing.

"Rachel?" she called out, turning to find no one behind her. "Rachel! Come on! I want to go inside. My fingers are gonna fall off."

There was silence, the sound of Santana's loud breathing the only thing she heard as she spun around again. "Rachel?"

A perfectly round snowball hit her in the face and she cried out, groaning as she wiped the slush off of her cheeks and eyelids. Her eyes stung and she glared ahead of her, spotting Rachel's head sticking out from behind a tree. She was laughing.

"I hate you," Santana said.

Rachel walked over to her, her pigtails swinging as she continued to chuckle. She reached up to help Santana wipe some of the snow off of her face. "No, you don't," she replied, pulling Santana's hands away from her watering eyes and leading her towards her house. "Come on, I'll give you hot chocolate. That always makes you like me again."

Santana let Rachel lead her across various yards until they reached the Berry house. "I want extra whipped cream."

Rachel bounced up the steps energetically. "I asked daddy to get an extra can from the store just for you."

* * *

A few weeks later, Rachel begged Santana to come to her dance recital, offering to bribe her with whipped cream and chocolate if it was necessary. It wasn't Rachel's first performance, but it was the first one at which she would have a solo and she wanted her best friend to be there. Santana had to promise her mother that she would clean her room up every week and be on her best behavior, but it was worth it for chocolate and for Rachel.

Santana and her mother went shopping for a new dress and argued over what color it should be and her mother spent what felt like hours fixing her hair, Santana fidgeting and staring at her new dress as it lay on the bed waiting for her to put it on. It was the first dress Santana had been allowed to wear in what might have been years (her mother made her wear pants because she somehow always managed to get all of her clothes covered in dirt) and she couldn't help the excitement that coursed through her veins.

She had chosen a red dress that came down to her knees and matching shoes. It was nice but still casual enough for a recital and Santana wanted to look pretty for Rachel when she was cheering for her. Her mother also gave her some flowers to give to Rachel to congratulate her on her first big ballet solo and they wrapped a red ribbon around them that matched the color of Santana's dress. It was almost too much.

The doorbell rang promptly at seven and Santana hurriedly kissed her mother on the cheek before rushing to answer the door, skidding across the wooden floor of the hallway and colliding with the banister of the staircase. "I got it!" she yelled.

Rachel was standing on the other side wearing a black leotard, her hair pulled up into a tight bun and light makeup on her face, a dusting of glitter across her cheeks.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked immediately, bouncing on her feet.

Santana spotted the Berry car in the driveway, Leroy and Hiram waiting patiently in the front seat. She nodded, throwing her coat on and grabbing the flowers off of the end table next to door.

"Behave! I don't want to hear anything bad about you tonight!" her mother called out.

Santana rolled her eyes and pulled the door closed, turning back to Rachel.

"Are those for me?" Rachel asked, her eyes wide as she looked at the flowers Santana was holding.

"Yeah -"

Rachel reached out, trying to grab them. "Oh, thank you so much. My dads always give me flowers but it's so much -"

Santana jerked her arm back. "No," she said. "My mom said they're for  _after_  the recital."

"Oh."

Rachel frowned, her eyes turning towards the ground. She pouted, just like she always did when she wanted something. Her bottom lip trembled.

Santana rolled her eyes, looking down at the flowers in her hands for a moment before she picked out what she thought was the nicest one. "Fine, you can have  _one_ now," she sighed, holding her arm out in front of her until Rachel took the flower she was offering, their fingers brushing lightly. "But the rest are for after, okay?"

Rachel nodded quickly, her pout vanishing instantly as she took the offered flower in her hand. "Thank you," she said quietly, smiling back at her friend.

* * *

Rachel had to go backstage as soon as they reached the auditorium of the local high school, leaving Santana with her fathers and all of the families milling around the entranceway outside of the auditorium.

Santana frowned, following along behind Rachel's dads. There was a mark on her new dress, probably from when she slid in the hallway, and her shoes were already scuffed. She picked at the spot on her dress as she walked, absentmindedly staring downwards until she walked right into something big and soft.

Strong hands steadied her. "Whoa, careful there," a man said, clutching a basket of roses on his arm. He was the tallest person she had ever seen and his eyes were kind and blue and made her smile.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"It's alright," he smiled. "Would you like to buy a flower?"

Santana shook her head. "No, I already got some," she said, shrugging.

Leroy appeared then, stepping up to them and taking Santana's hand. "There you are, Santana," he said. "Come on, the show's about to start."

Santana figured she was probably too old to be holding a grownup's hand, but she let Leroy keep her hand anyway. His hands were large and warm wrapped around hers, the firmness of his grip comforting as he held on to her. Her own dad was nice but he never took her anywhere and so had no reason to hold her hand. It was something that Santana never really missed until she was with Rachel's fathers.

Leroy squeezed her hand, breaking into her thoughts. "Are you excited?" he asked, smiling at Santana. "I know Rachel won't shut up about it," he chuckled, his voice deep.

Santana walked along beside him into the auditorium. "Rachel never shuts up about anything," she replied, following him into an aisle in the middle of the auditorium. Leroy laughed. "No, seriously," Santana continued. "Yesterday, she talked for like, twenty minutes about her headband."

Leroy helped Santana up into a seat next to Hiram and sat down next to her. "And you didn't stop her?"

"I tried, but she just kept going and going," Santana replied, rolling her eyes. "So I just ignored her 'til she was done and then we went on the jungle gym."

Leroy chuckled and Santana grinned, turning towards the stage and trying to find the best view. She pulled her legs up underneath her and sat on her knees, tucking her dress up under her body. It was going to wrinkle and her mom was probably going to be mad but she didn't care anymore; she'd already gotten her dress dirty, so a few wrinkles weren't going to get her in much more trouble than she was already in.

Hiram offered to take the flowers she was still clutching, but she shook her head, tightening her fingers around the stems because  _she_ wanted to be the one to give Rachel's flowers to her and if she gave them to Hiram or Leroy, she'd probably end up forgetting about them.

The lights dimmed as Santana placed the bouquet under her seat and bounced on her legs slightly.

Music started playing and a few girls came out on stage, their hair done up and their faces shining under the stage lights. They had on the prettiest dresses Santana had ever seen - light blues and rich purples twirling across the stage in time with the music. They were beautiful, but they weren't Rachel.

Santana bounced up a little bit more, Hiram's hand on her shoulder steadying her.

There was one little girl in the back of the group, only just moving as she stood against the backdrop. She wasn't dancing like the other girls; she was simply swaying in place, a tattered plaid skirt and sweater covering her body. Her hair was long and dark, a mess of tangles that fell past her shoulders. Her skin was ashen grey, barely clinging to her limbs and her face as she stared out at the audience, stared out at  _Santana_  with big black eyes.

Santana's heart raced, the blood in her temples pounding. The girl looked - well, she looked  _dead_. Santana blinked and when she opened her eyes, the girl was gone. Had she been imagining things? Seeing things that weren't there? She gulped, glancing at Hiram. He seemed unaffected so Santana bit her lip and turned back to the stage.

The music and lights changed and then there  _she_ was, chasing all other thoughts out of Santana's head (especially bad ones). Rachel took center-stage and she took Santana's breath with her, the movement of her dark blue dress making Santana's eyes widen and her pulse race and she didn't understand it, but it felt good. Like most things with Rachel, it felt right.

When Rachel's solo was over and the lights changed again, Rachel joining the ranks of the other girls onstage, Santana jumped up and started cheering, clapping and yelling wildly before Hiram and Leroy both grabbed her and pulled her back to her seat. Hiram groaned slightly, rebuking her while Leroy stifled laughter that made her grin at him.

The people in front of her turned back to glare and the people behind her looked shocked, but Santana didn't care because her best friend was the best dancer there as far as she could tell and Rachel deserved her own special applause in the middle of the show. And Santana was going to be the one to give it to her.

Santana watched Rachel blush onstage, her cheeks and the tips of her ears turning pink as she smiled sheepishly. Rachel looked like she was trying to stop the smile that spread across her face but she was unsuccessful, grinning as she danced.

When the performance was over and the auditorium lights came back on, Santana waited impatiently for Rachel. Leroy held her hand again, this time because he caught her trying to sneak backstage. She kicked at the ground next to his foot, edging dangerously close to kicking him a few times.

Several minutes later, Rachel came out from backstage with a few other girls. She laughed and bounced on the balls of her feet as she came out of a door next to the stage, her performance dress having been replaced by a simple jacket zipped up over her leotard. She waved to some of the girls as they passed by Santana on their way to their own families.

"You were awesome," Santana said as Rachel reached her. She held her hand in front of her, the flowers clutched between her fingers. Her knuckles were turning white and her stomach felt funny, like it was flipping over itself inside her and knocking against her lungs.

Rachel smiled and took the flowers from her, twirling them in her hands. "Thanks," she replied, ducking her head slightly. "Did you like it?"

Santana nodded. "Yeah, it was cool. You were totally the best."

Rachel's smile widened. "You look really pretty," she said. "I like your dress."

Rachel looked back up at her through her eyelashes, the glitter on her cheeks catching the lights overhead. She bit her lip and Santana doesn't know why, but it made her feel nervous and excited, like it was Christmas Eve and she was waiting to get up and open her presents. Rachel was kind of like Christmas, she decided, grabbing her hand and leading her out into the cool air of late winter.

* * *

Rachel and Santana spent every Saturday together regardless of the season. Santana spent Friday nights at the Berry home, desperate and eager to get away from her own home. She was nine and her home now included her new little brother, who was really cute but even louder than she was. Rachel's house, in contrast, was much quieter, soft music floating through the living room as Hiram played the piano or Leroy put on a song. Santana had witnessed her fair share of fights between her mom and dad but she had never even seen Leroy and Hiram so much as glare at each other. It was a comforting change that she came to love.

"I got you something," she said, picking some dry cereal out of the bowl that was resting in the Rachel's lap. It was her favorite kind of cereal, the bright and colorful kind that crunched and stuck to her teeth.

Rachel bounced up. "Oh, what is it?" she asked, her voice rising in excitement.

Santana pulled her gift out from under the couch where she had stashed it the night before. She presented it proudly, smiling toothily as she handed it Rachel. She pulled her pajama-clad legs up underneath her and watched as Rachel's eyes widened.

"I can't believe it," Rachel cried. "Is this really -"

"A forty-eight count box of glitter crayons?" Santana interrupted. "Yep."

"Where did you get them?" Rachel asked, holding the box against her chest and looking at Santana like she was the best person in the whole world (and she was, as far as Rachel was concerned.)

"From the store," Santana deadpanned. "That's where you get stuff," she added, grabbing more cereal from the bowl and throwing it in her mouth.

Rachel rolled her eyes playfully, reaching over and wrapping her arms around Santana's shoulders. "Thank you," she grinned, pressing her lips to Santana's cheek lightly. Santana smiled, exhaling through her lips and glancing away from Rachel, who giggled and threw her body at the other girl. Both the bowl of cereal and Rachel's new box of glitter crayons slid to the floor as she tackled Santana, hugging her tightly and pushing her body against the couch.

Santana laughed and struggled against Rachel's body on top of hers, halfheartedly pushing at her arms to get her off. She decided that Rachel didn't need to know that Santana had lifted the glitter crayons from that Amanda girl who pushed her in the mud last week.

* * *

Santana and Rachel kept with their traditions as best they could – afternoons and evenings in the park sharing oranges under the tree they designated as theirs; Friday nights spent huddled in Rachel's bed; Santana attending Rachel's dance recitals. But it had been years since she had felt the need to sneak into Rachel's room, picking the lock on the front door instead of climbing the tree outside Rachel's window. She was strong for a twelve-year-old, but she knew she wouldn't be able to climb a tree with her brother on her back.

Rachel knew instantly that something was wrong. Santana wasn't crying, but she was certainly upset, her face contorted into a deep frown and her eyebrows furrowed. She had Marco on her back, the three-year-old's arms wrapped around her neck and his legs around her waist. He  _was_  crying.

"Santana?" Rachel asked, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes.

Santana had only just managed to slip on a pair of sneakers, her pajama pants tucked inside them as she hadn't bothered to pull the hems out. She didn't say anything as she sat on Rachel's bed, carefully sliding Marco down her back until he was sitting down. He sniffled and wet tears fell down over his cheeks.

Rachel slid across the bed, reaching out to brush her hand over the top of Marco's head. "It's okay, Marco," she whispered.

Santana pulled away from him and he fell back slightly, rocking himself. Rachel slid behind him and brought her hand to his back. Marco shifted, leaning back fully against Rachel as he continued to cry.

"It's okay," she repeated, reaching around the little boy to rest her hand on Santana's shoulder.

"Our mom left again," Santana muttered, twisting around to face them. She brushed her fingers across Marco's cheeks, whispering words to him in Spanish that Rachel couldn't understand. "They wouldn't stop yelling, you know?" she continued, focusing on Marco as he started to calm down, his sister's words having their desired effect on him. "I didn't want to leave him."

Rachel nodded, sliding her hands across Marco's shoulders and reaching up until she was able to grab Santana's wrists. She waited until Santana looked away from Marco and met her eyes over the top of his head. "You know that you're always welcome here," she said quietly. "Both of you."

Santana nodded.

The room was dark. There was moonlight shining in through the window, weaving its way through Santana's hair and over her shoulders. Santana practically glowed and all Rachel could do was sit there and hold on to her wrists for a moment. There was always something about Santana that made her insides feel mushy and her face feel hot, but in some moments, it felt like something more; something deeper and bigger than she could ever even think about. Sometimes, Rachel looked at Santana and she felt like her heart might burst.

Marco sniffled. "M'tired," he muttered.

Rachel finally looked away from Santana, releasing her hold on the other girl.

"Aren't you gonna say 'hi' to Rachel, Marco," Santana teased, tapping her finger against his nose.

"Hi," he echoed, rolling his head back to look at Rachel. "M'tired."

Rachel giggled, scooting back on the bed. "Okay, then let's all go to bed," she smiled. "I need to get my beauty sleep."

Marco rolled over and crawled across the bed, falling down face-first on to Rachel's pillow. "'M the middle," he said.

"I think we should let Santana be the middle," Rachel replied, looking at Santana.

Santana was still and quiet, seated carefully on the edge of Rachel's double bed. Rachel wanted to hug her and she wanted to lie down next to her because Santana had sleepily admitted once that she found comfort next to Rachel, sharing a blanket and pillow.

"No," Marco said, turning his head and sticking his bottom lip out at Rachel. "Sleep with you."

Rachel rolled her eyes, nudging him with her legs. "Scoot over. I'll sleep in the middle, okay?"

Marco rolled over on to his back, waiting until Rachel lay down to settle. He slid next to her, his small fingers wrapping around her arm. He sniffled quietly and closed his eyes, curling up against Rachel's body.

"Santana, come to bed," Rachel said quietly, patting the open space next to her.

Santana said nothing for a moment, sitting with her back to Rachel and pulling off her shoes. The room was quiet, the only sound the steady and persistent breathing of Marco as he slowly drifted to sleep. He whimpered softly.

Santana's shoulders shook and Rachel heard her start to cry. She slid her hand across the bed, wrapping her fingers around Santana's arm and tugging on it lightly. She ran her thumb over the soft skin of Santana's arm as the other girl's body shuddered.

"C'mon, San," she murmured. "It's okay, just come lay down."

"No, just - ah - just gimme a minute," she cried.

Rachel scooted closer to Santana, pulling on her arm. "Come here," she said softly. "Just come here."

"No," Santana insisted. "No, no, no," she repeated, her voice hoarse and quiet. She took deep breathes, her chest rising and falling heavily. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Santana, what are you talking about?" Rachel asked. "Come here," she repeated, gripping at Santana's sides and pulling on them until Santana fell back against her, struggling against her grasp. Rachel wrapped her arms around Santana's middle, holding her still as she tried to twist away from Rachel.

"Stop it," Rachel hissed. "Stop, Santana, please," she cried, her fingers pressing against Santana's stomach. She dropped her forehead to Santana's shoulder-blade. "Stop."

Santana was still crying, but her struggling diminished until she was left sobbing and halfheartedly trying to pull away from Rachel, holding her arms out in front of her and stretching her fingers forward. "I don't - I can't, Rachel. I can't," her voice cracked. She clenched her hands into fists and held them against her knees.

"Santana, please," Rachel said. "Shhh, it's okay, it's  _okay_ ," she whispered, tightening her grip on Santana. She closed her eyes tightly.

"It's not," she said breathlessly. "I saw - and it's gonna -" Santana cried out softly. "I don't want to hurt you," she repeated.

"You're not," Rachel said. "You've never hurt me," she murmured gently, continuing to hold on to Santana. "And I know you won't. You're my best friend."

"What if I do? What if it happens?"

"What if  _what_  happens?"

Santana shook her head quickly. She swallowed thickly before taking a deep breathe, Rachel's arms warm and tight around her midsection, her head pressed against Santana's back. It calmed her, her breathe slowly becoming more regular and her cries waning softly into silence.

"Can I have my body back now?" Santana asked hoarsely, her throat burning slightly.

She felt Rachel pull away slightly, her hands gliding across Santana's stomach and stilling on her hips. "Sant-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Santana interrupted quietly. "Please," she added gently, "can we just go to bed?"

"Okay," Rachel nodded, pulling away from Santana completely and sliding back across the bed, checking that Marco was still asleep.

Santana shakily slid into bed next to her, lying pressed up against Rachel's side, their fingers brushing and their legs resting against one another. She sniffled again.

"I know you always say that I talk too much," Rachel whispered, moving closer to her until their sides were flush and her fingers were resting against Santana's palm, "but I'm a good listener, too."

"I know," Santana replied, curling her fingers until they lightly brushed over Rachel's. "It was - it was just a bad dream, I think," she muttered, squirming until her body was low enough that she could rest her head against Rachel's shoulder. "Our mom and dad wouldn't stop screaming at each other and it woke me up. Then she left  _again._ It's so stupid."

"What happened? In your dream?" Rachel asked, tilting her head until it lay gently atop Santana's dark hair.

"I hurt you," Santana said simply. Rachel waited for a moment, but she said nothing more.

"It was definitely just a bad dream," Rachel told her, trailing her fingers across Santana's palm and then wrapping them around her hand, taking it in hers and holding it tightly. "You'll never hurt me."

Santana fell asleep with the hint of a nightmare she couldn't remember holding on to the back of her brain, screams and shouts echoing in her ears, and Rachel's hand in hers.

* * *

Santana was thirteen when she had her first  _real_ kiss (she had kissed Rachel many times, but they were just pecks between friends so she didn't count them.)

It was sloppy and wet, the boy from down the street puckering his lips and then smothering her mouth with them. He tasted like soda and smelled like he'd been living outside all spring, like there was a permanent essence of sweat and grass that clung to him.

"It was okay," she told Rachel afterwards. "Kind of sticky, I guess."

"Sticky?" Rachel wondered, rolling over on to her stomach to face Santana. She pulled one the pillow on her bed up underneath her chest. "Is it supposed to be sticky?"

Santana shrugged, kicking her legs out in front of her and hitting Rachel's desk chair. She ran her fingers over the edge of the desk she was sitting on, curling them around it. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe? It was kind of gross."

Rachel frowned, pursing her lips. "It's not supposed to be gross," she replied. "It's supposed to be special and amazing. You're supposed to see fireworks," she started. "You're supposed to close your eyes and then when they kiss you, it's like you've never been kissed before, like you've never even been able to breathe before."

"We're not in a movie," Santana rolled her eyes. "We're in real life and I can tell you that it was quick and dirty."

"Well maybe you were doing it wrong," Rachel said matter-of factly.

Santana scoffed. "I was not," she sneered, crossing her arms and glaring at Rachel on the bed. "I was awesome."

Rachel shrugged. "If you say so," she replied, rolling off of the bed. "At least you've kissed someone. No one even  _wants_  to kiss me."

"Whatever, you're not missing anything," Santana said. "No fireworks, no nothing."

Rachel straightened her sweater and skirt, smoothing them down as she stood up. "Maybe - well maybe you didn't kiss the right person," she said, glancing towards the window.

Santana stared at her. "I don't think it really matters," she responded, uncrossing her arms and sliding her hands underneath her legs. She sucked in a breath, watching Rachel hesitantly walk towards her.

"I think it does."

Rachel stopped in front of her and Santana swallowed. The air felt thick and it made her throat constrict slowly before she exhaled. "You wouldn't know," she said.

"Maybe you could show me," she suggested quietly, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and looking up at Santana through her lashes. She blushed, fighting off a smile as her cheeks turned pink.

"We've - uh - already kissed and stuff," Santana answered.

"Not for real," Rachel said.

Santana cleared her throat. "You want me to kiss you?"

"For practice," Rachel said quickly. She tucked her hair behind her ears. "Maybe if we practice, we'll both be good for when other people kiss us."

Santana nodded, suddenly aware of how close Rachel was, of the gentle curve of her lips and the way her eyes shined. Rachel's fingertips brushed over her knees, resting against the tops of her calves as her hands curled against them. "Right," Santana murmured. "For practice."

Rachel licked her lips, her tongue peaking out quickly to wet them.

"How -" Santana paused. Her voice was hoarse, rough and quiet. She cleared her throat again. "How do you want to do this?" she asked. Santana pulled her hands from underneath her thighs, resting them on the desk. Her palms were sweaty.

Rachel's eyes darted down to her lips for a moment. "Just," she swallowed. "Just kiss me?"

"Okay," Santana whispered. Rachel's hands tightened around her legs as she leaned down, her eyes slipping shut.

Rachel's lips were soft as they slid against her own, soft and gentle as she pressed forward against them, tilting her head slightly. Rachel's hands slid across Santana's cheeks, palms and fingertips dancing over her skin with just a hint of pressure that made Santana glad that was sitting down because her knees felt weak.

Rachel was wrong, she decided, curling her fingers over Rachel's shoulders as they kissed softly. It wasn't first kisses that were special and amazing; it was definitely second kisses. She was wrong about being able to breathe, too, because Santana had never felt as breathless as she did when Rachel tentatively swiped her tongue over Santana's lips for the first time.

* * *

Santana's fourteenth Valentine's Day came with pink papier-mâché decorations and colorful candy hearts. It brought Rachel a stuffed teddy bear with a bedazzled microphone and it brought Santana a simple envelope with her name on it left in the mailbox that her mother brought up to her, a knowing smile on her face.

Santana blushed despite her best efforts to keep her face from heating up, glancing at Rachel and running her finger over the heart sticker keeping the flap on the envelope closed. It was a simple cream colored envelope with  _Santana_ written on the front in red. A little heart was drawn in the corner.

"Who's that from, San? Is it your  _boyfriend?_ " Marco teased, flitting around her bedroom. The stuffed lion Rachel had given him swung wildly in his arms as he giggled and tried to dodge the hand Santana swatted at him.

" _Cállate mocoso_ ," Santana cried, looking away and hoping that Rachel wouldn't notice how nervous she was. "Shut up," she repeated.

He laughed and swung his lion at Santana.

"Marco," Rachel said, smiling brightly as she sat down on the bed next to Santana. "Don't tease your sister."

Marco stopped his lion mid-swing, flushing and looking at the ground. He pulled the lion up to his chest and rocked on his heels. "Sorry, Rachel," he muttered.

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to Santana."

He kicked at the ground awkwardly. "Sorry, San. I won't tease you about your boyfriend no more."

Rachel laughed and Santana stood up, lunging at her little brother. Marco's eyes widened as he fled from his sister's room, slamming the door shut behind him and yelling. Santana flopped back on the bed, muttering. "Stupid little -"

"So...boyfriend, huh?"

Santana sat up, grabbing Rachel's hand and pulling her down on the bed. "Yeah, sure, my imaginary  _boyfriend_ ," she grinned.

"Well you  _do_  have a secret admirer," Rachel said. She nudged Santana, bouncing up slightly. "Go on, open it."

"Okay, okay, chill out," Santana rolled her eyes, breaking through the sticker and pulling the envelope open. Her fingers skirted across the opening and reached inside, pulling out a large star, its points rounded. It was bright and gold and she looked instantly at Rachel. "Seriously?" she asked, the hint of a smile playing at her lips.

Rachel grinned at her. She shrugged, her foot tapping against Santana's.

Santana opened the star, seeing familiar looping letters scribbled inside in black. "You're the shooting star I wish on every night," it read. "Happy Valentine's Day, Santana!"

"Wow, I wonder who it's from," Santana deadpanned, trying to stop the way her lips twitched and tried to stretch into the biggest grin she'd ever sent at Rachel. It was lame and cheesy in the adorable way that Santana had come to associate with her best friend.

"I don't know," Rachel said. "Your secret imaginary boyfriend?"

"Uh-huh, sure," Santana drawled knowingly. She leaned over, wrapping her free arm around Rachel and pulling her into a quick hug. "Thanks, Rachel," she said grudgingly, playfully rolling her eyes.

Rachel turned slightly, sliding her hands around Santana's waist and returning her hug. She sighed contentedly. "I really want to practice kissing with you right now," she admitted quietly.

Santana kept her arm around Rachel, holding up the gold star with her other hand and pulling away slightly. "Make a wish?"

"I wish you would kiss me."

And so Santana did.

* * *

"I-I don't know what I'm doing," Rachel admitted, her fingers gripping Santana's shoulders tightly. They were fifteen and Rachel had begged Santana for her help, pleading with her until Santana couldn't help but roll her eyes and agree to what Rachel wanted; it was an all too familiar situation for Santana, saying 'yes' to Rachel.

"It's okay," Santana said. "Just like," she paused, hands sliding down Rachel's sides to hold on to her thighs. Her fingers trailed down until she reached Rachel's knees and she pulled them upwards. "Wrap your legs around my waist," she urged. "That - that'll give him a better angle or whatever."

Rachel did as she was told, spreading her legs and wrapping them around Santana's waist. Her ankles dug into Santana's lower back and when Santana shifted against her, she gasped. "Oh."

Santana's eyebrows furrowed. "Uh, yeah," she muttered. She pressed her arms against Rachel's sides, her palms coming to rest underneath Rachel's shoulders. Rachel's hands slid up over her cheeks and her temples as she brushed the hair out of Santana's face. "And - and then he'll like -" Rachel's hips bucked up and she groaned. " _Fuck._ "

Rachel's eyes were dark and shining and she looked up at Santana with trust. She was panting slightly and a light sheen of sweat clung to her skin. It was way hotter than it should have been and the way Santana's insides felt so tight and her thighs felt so sticky was wrong in ways that made her stomach flutter and her muscles quiver.

Rachel's fingers threaded through her hair and eventually gripped at the back of her neck. "Don't stop," she whispered, leaning up to kiss Santana, her lips soft and swollen as she lightly pressed them against Santana.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Santana muttered against her lips. She ground her hips down and her eyelashes fluttered.

Rachel tightened her grip on Santana's neck, continuing to press light kisses to her lips. "It's okay," she gasped. "Just don't stop."

* * *

"I don't like him," Rachel said, slipping her shoes on.

Santana shrugged, sliding her backpack on and turning the lamp in her room off. "He's not so bad when you get used to him," she replied. "And he's a football player."

"Is that all you care about? That he can throw a ball?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Well it certainly doesn't hurt," she scoffed. She waved her arm at Rachel. "Let's just go already."

Rachel sighed, gripping the top of Santana's window and raising her leg to swing it over the windowsill, Santana's hands gripping her hips to steady her as she pulled herself out on to the roof. She carefully began stepping around the window, holding on to outside of it with a death grip as she maneuvered upwards on the roof of the Lopez home.

Santana swung out of her window with ease, skirting along the window quickly. The top of the window was flat and she had discovered that if she was careful, she could climb up and around the window to sit on top of it, reclining back against the upwards slope of the roof.

She dropped her backpack on top of the window, carefully jumping up and pulling her knees up to her chest. Rachel was moving slowly and she reached out to steady her, offering Rachel her hand. "Come on already," she said. "My abuelita moves faster than you do."

"Excuse me for not wanting to fall and break my neck, or worse, my talent," Rachel replied, squeezing Santana's fingers and grabbing the edge of the window-top.

"Oh please, you would become a mute before you'd break your talent," Santana scoffed, "and we all know that you never shut up so..." she trailed off, grabbing Rachel's free hand and hoisting her upwards until Rachel landed ungracefully on top of the window, falling against her.

Rachel righted herself, brushing her hair out of her face and straightening out her pajama pants. She exhaled a burst of air and leaned back slightly, crossing her legs at the ankle. Santana busied herself with unpacking her backpack, throwing a blanket at Rachel to lay against the rough roof behind them while she took out a couple cans of soda.

Santana reclined against the roof, shifting the blanket behind them slightly. She opened her can of soda and passed the other one to Rachel. "He's not a bad guy, you know," she said. "Alex is just..." she trailed off, sipping her drink.

"A boy," Rachel finished. "The boy whom you are dating," she sighed, opening her own drink.

"Yeah, exactly, he's my  _boyfriend_ ," Santana rolled her eyes, shifting down slightly until her shoulder collided with Rachel's gently. "You're still my bestie or whatever."

It stung Rachel, the way Santana so casually referred to them as best friends. They had always been best friends, but they had eventually delved into deeper territory and just when Rachel was starting to get used to the way Santana kissed her and held her and made her feel special, Santana had pulled back from her and found a boyfriend.

"Are you in love with him?" Rachel asked quietly, tilting her head to look at the sky. She felt Santana look at her, could see Santana turn her head out of the corner of her eye. There was silence between them for a moment and Rachel looked to the stars instead, tracing the skyline with her gaze.

The horizon was tinted orange near the tops of the houses they were facing, the city lights shining brightly enough that a dull pink-orange had settled permanently near the skyline. But when she looked straight up and narrowed her eyes, she could ignore the lights and just look at the stars, silver and gold specks sparkling and shining down on them from their place in the sky. It was dark and it was beautiful and it made Rachel sigh.

"I'm just dating him," Santana said, shrugging her shoulders. "Nobody said anything about love."

"Then why are wasting your time with him if you don't love him?" Rachel asked, uncrossing her legs at the ankle and resting her hands on her stomach.

"God, not everything is about love," Santana practically spat. She shook her head slightly, scoffing. "We have a good time together. That's what people fucking do."

"You don't have to get so defensive, Santana, though it is telling that you're so upset about this."

Santana's eyes narrowed. "I will push you off of this roof," she said evenly.

"You wouldn't dare," Rachel gasped.

Santana pursed her lips, reaching her arms around Rachel's waist and resting her hands on either side of Rachel's midsection. Rachel's back arched up over the arm she slid between Rachel's body and the roof. Santana glared at her, cursing Rachel for giving her a hard time for dating a boy, for the curve of her back as it arched slightly on top of her arm and the way it made her stomach muscles tighten.

"Try me," she muttered menacingly.

Rachel rolled her eyes, relaxing against Santana's body, scooting over slightly until she was leaning against the other girl, her back resting slightly on top of Santana's front. Santana's hands were still on her waist, her palms flat and her fingers brushing just below the hem of Rachel's sweater.

"We're going to miss the meteor shower," she said softly.

Santana's hands slid over her waist and around to her stomach as she shifted slightly, holding Rachel against her. "Whatever," she grumbled. "You're lucky I'm cold."

"Mm-hmm," Rachel hummed contently. She swallowed, feeling Santana's breath run across her neck. She slid her hands over Santana's arms, resting them gently on top of Santana's, lacing their fingers together. "Is this okay?" she asked breathlessly.

Santana's fingers flexed in hers. "Uh, yeah, it's cool."

Rachel nodded, turning her head back up towards the sky. It was vast and it stretched on past forever, the stars they were seeing likely already dead. It made Rachel feel small and she tightened her grip on Santana's hand. "Do you remember when we went on that camping trip when we little? And we snuck out to go look at the stars?"

"You mean that time you  _dragged_  me out of the sleeping bag and  _pulled_  me through the woods like a damn ragdoll?" Santana asked playfully. "Yeah, I remember."

Rachel grinned, laughing lightly. "I don't know what came over me. I just remember thinking that it was very important that we go out to see the stars."

"I never know what comes over you," Santana smirked.

Rachel scoffed, tugging on Santana's hands until she felt the other girl's chin bump into her shoulder. "Honestly," she huffed, holding on to Santana's arms. She took a deep breath, softening her expression and her voice and struggling against the way her stomach tensed beneath the soft movement of Santana's fingers. "Do you remember when we made wishes together on a shooting star?"

Santana was quiet for a long moment, her chin still on Rachel's shoulder. "Yeah," she finally said, "I remember."

"Do you remember what you wished for?"

Rachel continued looking up at the stars, waiting for the first sign of any meteors that were supposed to be visible that night. Santana was silent behind her and Rachel eventually tilted her head downwards, turning until she could look at the other girl. "Santana?"

Santana was close to her, her chin resting gently on Rachel's shoulder as she stared at her. Her features were soft, her eyes wide and dark, her lips parted slightly. She exhaled and her breath mingled with Rachel's between them. "I wished that we could be together forever," she whispered, her fingers clenching, digging into Rachel's stomach slightly.

"That was my wish, too," Rachel said quietly, smiling, the corners of her lips just barely quirking upwards. Movement above them caught her eye and she tore her gaze away from Santana, pointing upwards as a handful of shooting stars streaked across the sky. "Now we can make another wish," she said.

"I don't need another wish," Santana eventually said.

"No?"

"No," Santana echoed, squeezing Rachel and pressing the side of her head against Rachel's cheek. Her eyes slipped closed and she inhaled deeply. "No, I don't need another wish," she repeated, her voice thick with an emotion that caught in her throat.

"I don't like him," Rachel said after a moment.

"Then he's gone," Santana answered immediately.

"I don't like that you're kissing him and having sex with him," Rachel continued. "I don't like the way he looks at you and I certainly don't like the way  _you_  look at  _him._  You don't need him, Santana; you just...you just need to be happy," she finished.

"I already said he's gone," Santana muttered.

"I know, but just -" she trailed off, sighing. A few more meteors shot across the sky, appearing and disappearing in short bursts. "I have a new wish," she started.

"Mm-hmm," Santana hummed.

"I wishe that when you kissed me, it wasn't just  _practicing_ ," Rachel said, her voice catching in her throat. "I wish it meant something to you."

Santana's fingers slid across Rachel's stomach, eventually resting on her hips. "It does...mean something," she rasped, "it does, okay?"

Rachel finally tore her eyes away from the sky, pulling her gaze away from the stars shooting overhead to look back at Santana again. Santana's eyes were still closed and Rachel licked her lips, leaning towards her, their noses brushing. She felt Santana's hands squeeze her hips. "Show me," she whispered. "Please show me that it means something."

Santana closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against Rachel's. Rachel twisted in her arms, turning to meet her slowly. She was soft, the way she always was, soft and warm and tender. "It always fucking meant something," she sighed against Rachel's lips. She raised one of her hands, brushing her thumb lightly over Rachel's cheek. "Means I kind of love you," she said, "or whatever."

Rachel's fingers caressed her inner arm, holding on to her as she pressed her cheek against Santana's palm. "Or whatever?"

Santana nodded. "Or what-the-fuck-ever," she said, kissing Rachel again. Like it meant something. It had always meant something, ever since the first press of Rachel's lips against hers when they were little girls. She slid her hand through Rachel's hair, pulling her closer because it was important, because there were shooting stars and there was Rachel and she wanted to hold on to everything.

She tightened her grip on Rachel's hair and held her close, holding on to  _everything_  because everything was Rachel. It was the way they were meant to be and Santana would accept nothing else.

* * *

_the angels never arrived, but I can hear the choir so won't someone come and carry me home tonight_

"This had better be important," Santana muttered into the speaker of her cell phone, twisting in her bedsheets as she eyed the clock. "It is four in the fucking morning. I will ends you."

"San-Santana?" she heard quietly. The voice on the other end of the line cracked for a moment, the speaker sniffling and breaking out into a harsh sob.

Santana sat up in bed, throwing her blanket off of her. "Rachel? Rachel, what's wrong?" she asked immediately, sliding her legs off of the bed and slipping on the nearest pair of jeans.

"Can you -" Rachel sputtered, holding back another cry. "Can you come pick me up?"

"Just tell me where you are," Santana said. She put her jacket on and grabbed her car keys. "Rachel?"

The connection crackled. "I love you, you know that right?" Rachel gasped. Santana could hear the tears in her voice, could picture the way her face was probably contorted, brows furrowed and lips trembling.

"Of course," Santana answered, not bothering to sneak out of her house. She took the steps two at a time and barely remembered to lock the front door behind her. "And you know I love you," she said, "Tell me where you are so I can come get you, okay?"

"I'm at the...at the park," Rachel told her. "I'm at our tree. You know the one - where we used to meet after school and spend -"

"Yeah, I know the one," Santana interrupted, sliding into the front seat of her car. "Stay on the line, baby," she added. "I'll be there in like, five minutes, okay?"

Rachel swallowed a sob. "I'll be waiting for you," she cried breathlessly. "Remember that I love you, okay? No matter what happens, just remember that," she said, her voice rising. "All of my life -"

Santana tried to interrupt her but Rachel's choked sob cut her off, "no, listen to me, Santana. All of my life has been about you; and all of yours has been about me. Even when you didn't want it to be, it was. And I just...I need you to know that. I need you to know that I have loved you for my entire life," she went silent for a moment, her breath catching in her throat, "for all of them."

The line went silent.

"Rachel? Rachel! Fuck," Santana yelled, throwing her phone on top of the dashboard and speeding up, taking the next turn a little faster than she should have as she swore again. Her heart was racing and her knuckles were white, burning as she gripped the steering wheel as hard as she could.

Something was happening with Rachel, something that left her sobbing in the park in the middle of the night and saying things that almost felt to Santana like "good bye."

She smacked her palm against the steering will, pressing down against the gas pedal even harder.

* * *

Santana reached the park quickly, skidding to a halt in the parking lot and jumping out of her car, throwing the door closed behind her and practically running towards the familiar tree tucked away behind the slid. They had kissed under that slide, she remembered, brushing her hand over the metal as she passed it; she had given Rachel her juice, her first kiss, and her heart right before Rachel decided that they had to get married one day. (She had always been okay with that plan.)

She spotted Rachel as she reached the trees, leaning back against the rough tree bark of the same big tall tree they always spend the afternoons under, eating fruit and singing songs together. Rachel's arms were crossed over her chest, her face crumpled and contorted in pain. She was still crying.

"Rachel," she called out, reaching her girlfriend and pulling her off of the tree, her fingers curling around Rachel's arms. She ran her eyes over Rachel's body quickly, looking for blood or dirt or some sign that she had been hurt. Nothing was amiss.

"Are you okay? What the fuck happened?"

Rachel threw her arms around Santana, burying her face in the soft material of Santana's jacket. Her hands clenched into fists that bunched up the fabric against her back. "I'm so sorry," she muttered. "Santana," she cried. "There was this man and I was just - I didn't want to lose you but I didn't want you to -"

"What are you talking about?" Santana wrapped one arm around Rachel's shoulders, pulling away to cup Rachel's cheek. She brushed the hair off of her forehead. "Rachel, you know you can't lose me," she said gently, rolling her eyes slightly. "You're fucking stuck with me, got it? You couldn't  _make_ me go away."

To Santana's surprise, Rachel's face fell even further, the corners of her mouth slipping down as her bottom lip trembled and her eyes watered. "Shit, babe," Santana muttered. "That wasn't the reaction I was going for."

Rachel's hands shook as they glided across Santana's back and around her sides, her fingers curling around the edges of the lapels. She shivered, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks. "He was going to hurt you and I couldn't let that happen," she said shakily, eyes fixed on Santana's jacket. "I'm doing this for you but it's not your fault and I just - I couldn't let him hurt you."

Santana bobbed her head, leaning down until Rachel had no choice but to look at her. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "No one's gonna hurt me. I'm a fucking badass," she quipped, curling her lips.

Rachel's cries grew stronger and Santana's smile fell as Rachel shook her head. "What did you do?" she whispered. "Rachel?"

Rachel sniffled. "I did this for us," her voice cracked. "I did this for you," she sobbed, "maybe next time, we'll get our chance. We'll try again, Santana," she mumbled. "We'll try again, okay?"

"I doubt it," a new voice said. "That's the thing about life, you know? You can keep trying," it said, "and perhaps you might think you're succeeding, but really, you're just running around like a puppy chasing your own tail."

Santana noticed him then, a man leaning against  _their_  tree. He was tall and his limbs were long, one leg resting against the trunk of the tree and the other bent at the knee, his foot against the bark behind him.

"That's the thing about death, too," he continued, standing up straight and pulling himself up to his full height. "You live, you die, and then you do it all over again," he said. "It's all quite circular. For you anyway," he added, rolling his shoulders.

"Who the hell are you?" Santana sneered. "Go the fuck back to your underpass, asshole," she said, tightening her grip on Rachel, her hands holding on to Rachel's shoulders.

"Ah, you never remember," he said, shaking his head and sighing. "In due time, I suppose," he shrugged. "I can't leave until the terms of our agreement have been met -"

"I didn't make any fucking agreement," Santana interrupted.

"I was talking to Rachel," he replied, inspecting his fingernails with little interest. "It's her turn now. Let's make this the  _last_  time, yes? Life and death are cyclical but I for one would like to get off the ride."

Santana took a step away from the tree, pulling Rachel with her. "Okay, someone needs to tell me what the fuck is going on," she demanded.

Rachel exhaled shakily, trembling in her arms. She pressed her palms to either side of Santana's neck, thumbs brushing across Santana's cheeks. "I love you so much," she whispered firmly. "I agreed to this for us because -" she hesitated, closing her eyes as she pulled Santana's head towards her, resting her forehead against the other girl's, "because I didn't want  _you_  to die. I made a deal so that you could live."

"Rachel, what -"

Rachel kissed her, cutting off her words with her lips. They trembled as they pressed against Santana's, Rachel's tears on her own cheeks.

The man rolled his eyes. "Please, spare me," he scoffed, his features devoid of any affect whatsoever, hands slipping inside his pockets as he stared at the two of them. "Rachel, we mustn't delay this any longer."

Rachel surged forward, kissing Santana and hoping that she understood one day, that she would understand and forgive Rachel for putting her through something so traumatic. Santana would survive and hopefully, what they had would be enough to get Rachel through, too. "I love you," she whispered again.

She pulled away then, shrugging out of Santana's arms and taking a few steps away from her. "Please remember that," she said, closing her eyes.

Rachel took a deep breath, steeling herself. She heard the sound of a gun being cocked behind her, the sound of the trigger being squeezed. She heard Santana scream, the sound echoing in her ears like the familiar lullaby of another life. She felt the bullet as it entered her back and then she saw nothing.


	15. A River That Is Also A Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient with me as I took my time getting this last chapter off the ground.
> 
> We've come to the end at last. It's been a long ride, and it hasn't been without its bumps, but here we are and that's something, at least. I know that not every one of your questions has been answered, but you should know that I don't always believe that life is made up of easy answers. Life is a journey built on questions and for every answer you think you get, you'll usually end up with still more questions. And that's okay. It's okay not to have all the answers, to just sit back and enjoy the ride. How does that saying go? "The answer is in the seeking."

" _The boat slipped and slid across the mirror-surface of the underground pool. And then Mr. Ibis said, without moving its beak, 'You people talk about the living and the dead as if they were two mutually exclusive categories. As if you cannot have a river that is also a road, or a song that is also a color.'_

' _You can't,' said Shadow. 'Can you?' The echoes whispered his words back at him from across the pool._

' _What you have to remember,' said Mr. Ibis, testily, 'is that life and death are different sides of the same coin. Like the heads and tails of a quarter.'_

' _And if I had a double-headed quarter?'"_

_Neil Gaiman, American Gods_

They buried her on a Wednesday, just a couple of days after what had been labeled "the incident," which Santana found to be completely ridiculous because the loss of her best friend and the girl she was in love with was more than just  _an incident_. It was a heartbreak, the kind that settled deep in her insides and burrowed there, clenching around her heart every time she took a breath.

Hiram and Leroy stood solemnly next to one another, hands clasped. They were crying. Hiram's face was stoic but for the tears that fell down his cheeks and Leroy was openly sobbing. Santana stood across from them, watching the way Hiram's grip on Leroy's hand tightened and his eyes closed heavily. She watched the way Leroy inhaled deeply, trying to pull air into his lungs.

"It's useless," she wanted to say, wanted to scream and cry out. Instead, she was silent.

Santana felt a hand on her arm and looked over, finding her mother staring at her. Marco was clinging to her legs, his small fingers digging into her muscles as he cried. He kept asking her when Rachel was coming back and she kept trying to find a way to explain the idea of  _never_  to him, but she came up empty.

"It'll be okay," her mother said softly, voice hoarse and eyes watering.

"You're a liar," Santana wanted to reply. She shook her head and brushed her hand through her brother's hair instead.

There were students present, many of them friends, most of them in tears. Rachel had touched everyone she ever met in some way and even the kids who were there just to miss school looked affected. Her presence had been so strong that her absence could be felt in the very air around them. Or at least, that's how it felt to Santana - like all of the air had been sucked out of her lungs and out from around her, stolen away with Rachel.

"You didn't know her like I did," she wanted to yell at them, sending them away and telling them to take their looks of sympathy and pity with them. All of their eyes were on her, the girlfriend of the dead girl, and she could feel them burning her skin, setting her aflame with questions and accusations.

A man was speaking, his voice deep and grave. He said words that she couldn't understand and words that she could understand but didn't want to. He said things like _beautiful life_  and  _tragic loss_  and  _too soon_  and  _will be missed_. Santana shut him out. She didn't need to hear his dime-a-dozen condolences. He didn't know Rachel, either.

She breathed in shakily, her hands trembling as she tried to find the pieces of herself that she had lost. No, the pieces that had been stolen from her. Santana closed her eyes, looking for Rachel, for her face and her lips and her bright eyes tired with sleep at the end of a long day spent lounging in bed or in the park. All she could find was blood. It stained Rachel's clothes and it spread out across the grass as she fell, eyes wide and face contorted in pain.

Santana heard sobbing and opened her eyes, wishing that the sight of blood and  _that_  man's face weren't in her head when she closed her eyes. Sometimes, she swore she could hear him near, just behind her or just next to her, whispering. She could picture his face, smiling and ageless but for his eyes, which stared directly at her as he kept shooting.

And she realized that she was the one sobbing. She was crying loudly, her brother still clinging to her leg and her mother's hand on her arm as she released a sob from deep in her chest.

People started singing, something slow and mournful. It was full of regret (or maybe that was just her heart) and it made her weep. She had decided when they were twelve that there were only two people who were allowed to do the singing:  _Rachel_  and her. Her fingers curled in Marco's hair at the realization that she would never get to hear Rachel's voice again, never listen to her hum under her breath while she worked on homework or sing in the shower or whisper words against Santana's skin between kisses. And she would never get to sing with Rachel again.

"Come back," she whispered, voice cracking. "Come back," Santana repeated. The fingers of her free hand clenched, nails digging into her palm.

Her father's hand gripped her shoulder and the choir continued to sing as they lowered Rachel Berry into the ground.

She had spent most of her life with Rachel Berry by her side and now there was no one.

* * *

Looking into his eyes was like looking up at the stars, seeing them shine and twinkle in the night sky, small and from a greater distance than could be fathomed. He looked at her like he knew her, who she was and who she wasn't. She could see his face, pale and thin, peering at her from over Rachel's shoulder. She could see him, blood spattered across the hem at the bottom of his pressed white pants.

He was standing in the corner of the room, smiling at her.

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

Santana blinked, shaking her head quickly and glancing back at the corner, seeing no one. She pulled her attention back towards the woman in front of her, the woman who had been Rachel's dance instructor when she was a little girl. She was shaking hands with Hiram, brow furrowed and a frown on her face. She was looking at all of them sympathetically, the same way that everyone who claimed they understood did.

"She was so young," the woman said.

"We know," Santana snapped, scoffing. "You don't have to tell us. We fucking know that she was young and that she had her whole fucking life ahead of her."

Leroy brought his hand up to her shoulder, fingers curling over it and squeezing. She glanced over at him, memorizing the grief that was permanently etched on his face in the lines of his forehead and the downward curve of his lips. He sighed softly, eyes fluttering closed, and shook his head at her.

"Santana," he started. " _Please._ " He offered nothing further.

Guilt. She felt incredibly guilty. Santana was sitting shiva with them, at their invitation, and she was filling it with anger and bitterness. She hadn't been able to save their only daughter – her best friend, her girlfriend – and now she was only disappointing them. Her fingers and her heart were permanently stained with the blood of their child and she was still hurting them.

Santana looked away from Leroy, clenching her fists as she stared at the ground, eyes immediately finding the space where she and Rachel used to lie next to each other and draw pictures for each other in crayon. Nearby was the space where they played cards on rainy Sunday afternoons, both of them on their stomachs with their legs swinging in the air; and then there was the space where they would spread out a blanket to lie on, Santana sometimes rolling over to kiss Rachel in the middle of a movie that she couldn't even pretend to watch.

The room was full of empty spaces that had once belonged to them.

Santana stood up abruptly, shrugging Leroy's hand off of her shoulder. The room was too much, the memories it held too close to her heart and soul for her to breathe without her heart clenching uncomfortably. She could see those eyes again, the ones belonging to the man whose name she didn't know but whose face she would never be able to forget.

She walked out, stepping out into the cool fall air and letting it wash over her. "Fuck," Santana muttered, scuffing the heel of her shoe over the pavement of the Berry's front porch and stomping over the space where she and Rachel had sat together in the middle of the summer, eating vegan ice cream and exchanging lazy kisses.

She meandered across the yard, starting down the street towards the cemetery and trying to ignore the tears stinging the backs of her eyes. She felt her bottom lip start to tremble, but she pressed on, forcing in vain for her features to still and calm. They had walked this very street together, she and Rachel, almost every single day, and now she walked alone.

Santana pushed on the gate of the cemetery, arriving after what felt like only moments but could have been hours. She swung it open angrily, letting it collide with the fence as she stepped inside.

She knew the exact location of Rachel's grave, striding purposefully through rows of tombstones that she had memorized. Her vision was blurry, eyes swimming with tears, and the path she walked was so second-nature to her that she arrived without having seen most of the grass she tread on and the grave markers she moved past.

And then Santana was there, standing in front of  _her_  grave, staring at her name etched in stone and in her soul.

_Rachel Barbra Berry_

Santana cried then, releasing a low whimper and hating how weak it sounded. "God," she said breathlessly. Her voice was raspy, rough from her tears and from her pain. Santana was sure that she could feel Rachel's blood fresh on her hands and her arms until she wiped the tears from her eyes and found herself in the dirt.

She dropped unceremoniously to the ground, sitting back on her legs with her knees bent. Her fingers clenched in the freshly dug-up soil beneath her. It wasn't blood that she felt; it was the earth. Or maybe it was both.

"Fuck," she said, her speech rising from a low whisper to an anguished cry. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

It was wrong. She could feel it in her bones, the wrongness.

Santana continued to sob, her entire body shaking. Tears fell down her face, sticking to her cheeks. "Rachel," she choked out. "What the fuck did you do?"

She dug her fingers further into the dirt, feeling it slide under her fingernails. "You're so  _stupid_ ," she said. "I don't even know what you did, but you're so fucking  _stupid_ ," she went on, voice cracking sometimes. "You - we were -  _fuck_ , I love you. I fucking love you. I was - I was going to marry you one day, Rachel. We were going to go to New York and go to college," Santana continued, pulling her hands up and sliding her palms over her dress. "We were going to graduate and then we were going to start our life together. I always figured that the night you won your first Tony, I would propose to you. It would be fucking romantic, too, because you love that stuff."

"Loved," Santana corrected herself with another sob. "You  _loved_  that stuff. And now what? Now you're gone."

The cemetery was silent for a moment but for the rustle of leaves and the crisp autumn wind that blew them from the trees. And then she heard it, ringing in her ears and making her heart pound.

"You really think we would have been married one day?"

Santana Lopez knew the sound of Rachel Berry's voice like she knew the soles of her feet and the tips of her fingers. Even when Santana didn't want to hear Rachel, and even when she wasn't supposed to, Rachel's voice was still with her.

Santana raised her head, pulling herself up and shaking her head. She had gone crazy. Her girlfriend and best friend had been murdered and now she was actually insane, hearing a voice that she should never have heard ever again.

"Santana?" she heard from behind her. "You think that we would have gotten married?"

Santana spun around then, eyes wide as they took in the sight of Rachel Berry, her ashen skin and dark eyes framed by even darker circles. The flesh of her cheeks was slightly sunken in and she was an unnatural grey color that stood out against the rich blackness of her dress.

"R-Rachel?"


End file.
